36: In Too Deep
by cali-chan
Summary: A fashion empire heiress has been found dead in her pool, and the Miami Dade CSI team is on the case. The truth, and some other, deeper buried feelings, will resurface. RyanCalleigh, possible EricNatalia, and HoratioYelina if I can manage to fit her in.
1. Chapter 1: CSI

_She had to run out of there. She had to get out; she had to go outside... But she couldn't... Her body wouldn't respond, she felt so weak... she couldn't see straight, everything was blurry... She had to make out before... before..._

* * *

**IN TOO DEEP**

**Chapter 1: CSI**

**Disclaimer: **'CSI: Crime Scene Investigation' and 'CSI: Miami,' characters and all related terms and concepts are trademarked property of CBS Productions and Alliance Atlantis Communications. No copyright infringement is intended or contained within this story. I am in no way affiliated or recognized by CBS, just a fan writing for fun.

**Note:** Hello! Thanks for giving this fic a try. Please don't forget to read the author's notes at the bottom; they may contain useful information to the readers. -Carla.

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"Mercedes Valencia, you say?" 

Detective Frank Tripp nodded, arms crossed and eyes squinting against the glaring reflection of the sun's rays on the water surface, as he looked down at the girl's body as she was given a preliminary examination by their ME. "Yes. Seventeen, fresh out of prep school, heiress to a huge fashion empire and apparently quite the socialite."

Lt. Horatio Caine took off his sunglasses, seeming pensive. "I see. Daughter of Eloisa Valencia, the Puerto Rican designer," he stated gravely. Det. Tripp nodded yet again, and Horatio turned to look down. "Did she drown, Alexx?"

Medical Examiner Alexx Woods sighed as she examined the deceased's brown-haired head from one side. "I can't say until the post, but I'm almost sure she did. She was hit in the back of her head, but it was not a fatal blow. It might have caused her to black out. There's also a cut on her thigh; it's not deep, but that's where most of the blood is coming from." She shook her head sadly. "Poor dear, she's just a kid."

Det. Tripp agreed with her, looking at the blood still noticeable in the water. "She was pushed from her room." He pointed to a balcony three stories above the other side of the pool, drawing Horatio's attention to it. It was a small area, delineated by a low concrete wall and sliding glass windows from the top of the wall to the ceiling. The windows were open, and he could see movement inside; CSI trainee Natalia Boa Vista was up there, processing the scene. "Her kid brother and the nanny were here. Said they didn't hear anything but they found the body. The nanny called 911. Calleigh's taken them in for questioning."

Horatio 'hmm'-ed his assent. "How old is the boy?"

Det. Tripp shrugged. "Dunno. Five, six, maybe."

"Very well. Mr. Wolfe, what do you have for me?" he asked, raising his voice so that the man who was crouched on the other side of the pool could hear him.

CSI Ryan Wolfe was examining something he held in the palm of his hand. He didn't raise his gaze even as Horatio walked up to him, but he did reply. "Not much. No blood around the pool, only in the water, though I did find a wristwatch laying towards the right side. Very expensive. Could be hers, it might've dislodged during her fall." He finally looked up at his boss, showing him what he was holding. "And this."

Horatio knelt down beside him. "An engagement ring." He took the jewelry from Ryan's hand and examined it himself. "Engaged at seventeen..." he paused for a second, then gave the ring back to Ryan so he could bag it. "I'll go and supervise Miss Boa Vista. Mr. Wolfe, I want you to wrap this up so Eric can drain the pool. Then you'll go back to the lab and help Calleigh with the witnesses."

They both stood. "Sure you don't want me to stay?" Ryan asked. "This house is..." He looked up and let his gaze slide over the property. "...Big," he finished, and his emphasis on the word was not lost on Horatio.

"Don't worry, Mr. Wolfe. If we have to pull an all-nighter, then that's just what we'll do."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Ryan muttered to himself as Horatio went inside the house.

--

"She hit her head here," Natalia explained to the Head Investigator as he looked around the room. She was pointing to a metallic shelf located above the bed. "There's blood on the shelf and spatter on the wall. It also pooled on the bed and stained the pillows and stuffed toys." She showed him a couple of teddy bears from the pile that was on the bed that had been stained deep red. "She fell here after she hit the shelf."

"Presumably unconscious," Horatio added. "Signs of struggle?"

Natalia shook her head, still looking around for something she might've missed. "None. Other than the items on the shelf, everything else seems to be in its reasonable place, and in order." She turned to the balcony to continue the investigation. "I was going to start on the balcony now."

Horatio followed her outside. "The windows are open just enough for her body to go through," he noticed.

"I wonder why whoever killed her didn't just break the windows," she put out, as she opened her equipment.

Horatio knocked lightly on the glass, then noticed a small, rectangular sticker on one of the closed panels. The name of a company was written there, along with a catchy slogan, phone and fax number, in translucent, almost-transparent, lettering. "It's bullet-resistant glass. At least partially; it's not thick enough to offer much protection, but a few layers might help given that there are no bars to keep intruders out. It wouldn't have broken that easily, especially without a blunt object at hand."

"There's blood on the edge of the windowsill," Natalia let him know. She took pictures of it before taking a sample, and Horatio leaned over her head briefly to see it. Effectively, the blood was smeared on the metal of the window rail, and a little had dripped down onto the wall, barely distinguishable against the dark background.

"Good." Horatio looked around the small area once more, and walked back into the room. "Might wanna check the glass, there are probably prints on it." As Natalia set to work on it, Horatio started looking around, trying to find anything that might give him a clue as to why anyone would want to kill young Mercedes. There was, of course, the fact that her family was rich. It was a reason her to have bulletproof glass windows, alright. However, it was that precise fact that made him doubt that simple theft or even a kidnapping attempt was the reason for the murder-- the security in that mansion was incredibly tight. Nobody could get inside without an access code, and only family members and the security service provider knew those. The group of CSIs were allowed inside simply because it was a murder investigation and federal law overruled any contractual obligations of the security service provider in case of a criminal investigation. Had they not been with Law Enforcement, they would still be standing outside. In fact, that was exactly what happened to the mob of media workers and paparazzi that currently surrounded the place in search of a story.

There was no way that just anyone had come in and killed Miss Valencia. Whoever it was, he or she was invited in. It may have been for the money, but it was more than that; it was personal.

The room itself was very over the top. It was clear that this young girl had been spoiled with everything that money could buy-- a disco-ball on the ceiling, silk sheets on the bed, the biggest plasma HDTV that Horatio had ever seen outside of an electronics store-- and that she had given good use to her personal space. The walls were painted a very deep, regal purple, and the furniture had golden and silver accents. Her closet was big enough to be called an adjacent room. There was a bar on the corner opposite to the balcony... perhaps it was purely for aesthetic purposes, perhaps not. Her headboard was adorned with the name "Mercedes" in glittery (he guessed rhinestone, but of course, it not being his area of expertise, he could be wrong), cursive lettering. The ceiling was adorned with shimmering stickers that would possibly give the illusion of a starry sky at nighttime, when the lights were turned off. And occupying the whole of the farthest wall there was a big mural, shaped like big flowers, where hundreds of photos were clipped, forming a floral collage.

He looked at the mural for a long time, going over the pictures. Frank was not kidding when he said she was a socialite, not at all. Miss Valencia turned out to be quite the party girl. The vast majority of the pictures were taken in some sort of party scenario-- nightclubs, pool gatherings, the beach-- and although he'd seen pictures of other socialites of the time on television and on the internet in far more compromising positions than this girl was, there was enough alcohol and minimal clothing in the pictures to conclude that Mercedes Valencia was definitely no blushing innocent.

One picture in particular caught his attention. It was a relatively innocuous picture, compared to the rest: Mercedes was smiling brightly at the camera, her straight brown hair falling over her shoulders as she sat on the lap of a young man who hugged her from behind. Of course, she was holding a drink, and the man was clearly older than her (a good half-dozen years, perhaps, Horatio guessed), but what really stood out to him was the shiny ring that adorned her finger as she covered the man's hand with her own.

Engaged at seventeen, indeed.

He carefully detached the picture from the mural and flipped it. Written in tidy, heavily-arched and clearly feminine handwriting, was the phrase _Merce & Tommy 03-23-07 donde Mariana, good times! _He made a mental note regarding this Tommy person. He was most likely the fiancé, and although they looked happy in the photograph, appearances could be deceiving.

"There was a handprint on the window," Natalia announced, dragging him out of his reverie.

"Excellent," he turned to check her progress when a familiar face entered the room, that of CSI Eric Delko. "Ah, Eric. Anything in the pool."

"Nothing, H," the man replied somewhat dejectedly. He looked over at the third occupant of the room for a fleeting second, and then back at Horatio. "I've got some info from security detail, though. Like you thought, the whole house is under the system but Mrs. Valencia demanded that her and her kids' rooms not be monitored for privacy. They don't use cameras; apparently they took them down after a past instance when one tape was leaked out to the media. Private life of pampered heiress made some big bucks."

"It figures," Horatio deadpanned. "We'll have to get our culprit in some other way, then. How's the pass code activity?"

"Door's been opened only three times-- once by Mrs. Valencia, at 10:30 am, as she was leaving and I guess she let the nanny in. The second and third times, at 11:30 and 3:30, by the girl, as she was leaving and coming back."

"Was she alone?"

"No way to know."

"But we do know that nobody has disturbed the system in any way."

"That's right. Which means..."

"It means that they either knew how to disable the system... or they were invited," Natalia intervened as she closed her kit, taking Horatio's words out of his mouth. The two men regarded her for a moment, in silence.

"That's correct, Miss Boa Vista," Horatio finally said, drawing Eric's attention to him as well. Drumming his fingers lightly against the frame of his sunglasses, he looked down as he thought. "I believe we need to find out where Miss Valencia went this afternoon. Natalia, go back to the lab with Eric and Frank. I need to make some inquiries."

The two CSIs nodded and followed their boss out of the room, towards HQ in order to analyze the evidence.

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**Author's note:** Hello again! Thank you so much for reading! This is my first CSI: Miami fanfic. Actually, it's my first CSI fanfic, period, and pretty much my first attempt at writing a murder/forensics/police kinda plot. I'm sure it's going to suck because I may understand much of the science behind it, but laws just elude me, haha. But uh, I discovered A&E was airing episodes of CSI: Miami every weekday and, well, Miami's always been my favorite of the three, and I was reminded of how cool it was and how long it had been since I'd seen an episode! I got hooked again. And when I get reacquainted with a former obsession, fanfiction is the result. Yep, that is your fate, people of the world. 

Anyway, I will try my best for this to be season 5 compliant, but I haven't seen any season 5 episodes yet so there might be glaring errors here and there. If you find any, tell me and I'll correct them. I really depend on you guys because there's a very distinct possibility that I won't be able to see the last episodes of season 5 until, like, September. Sucks for me, yeah. But for that reason I'll definitely be open to you bonking my head with a hammer if I screw up somewhere along the way. I'm anal-retentive when it comes to keeping to canon.

Credit for the inspiration for this fic goes to all those of you who have posted RyanCalleigh music videos over at YouTube; you all rock! I've seen them all so many times over-- the same scenes, over and over, and I still squee every time. I don't much get the CaRWash thing (well, I know where it comes from, but I don't think it fits our two lovebirds all that much), but the shippers are awesome! Keep up the good work, especially now with those -cough- spoilers that just made it out.

_In the next chapter!_: It's back to the lab as we interrogate the people involved. Turns out one of those is a familiar face! Not only that, but she somehow creates some sort of tension between two of our favorite CSIs. We take a deeper look at Mercedes' unconventional life, and the case moves forward. Can't tell you how long it'll be, as it all depends on where I find a good stopping place, but it'll surely be exciting! Stay tuned and please leave your comments, this is just getting started! -Carla.


	2. Chapter 2: Apnea

**IN TOO DEEP**

**Chapter 2: Apnea**

**Disclaimer: **'CSI: Crime Scene Investigation' and 'CSI: Miami,' characters and all related terms and concepts are trademarked property of CBS Productions and Alliance Atlantis Communications. No copyright infringement is intended or contained within this story. I am in no way affiliated or recognized by CBS, just a fan writing for fun. Pokemon and Pikachu are property of Nintendo and 4Kids Entertainment.

**Note:** Hello! Thanks for giving this fic a try. Please don't forget to read the author's notes at the bottom; they may contain useful information to the readers. -Carla.

**Note 2:** As the Mythbusters would say, "Warning! Science Content!" This chapter contains the post, so things might get really technical. Any questions, feel free to ask. -Carla, again.

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"ETD is around 4 o' clock. We got her fresh."

Eric had no comment for that particular assertion as he examined the corpse. Alexx chuckled a bit at his silence. "Water was present in her stomach and lungs, so she had to be alive at the time of submersion."

"CoD is definitely drowning, then," Delko nodded at her, making note of the conclusion.

"Yes. But I found something else that you'll find very interesting." Alexx walked around the examination table and picked up a folder. Then she walked up to Eric and presented it to him.

"What's that?" he asked her, opening it and taking a look at its contents.

"Blood test shows CO2 partial pressure is abnormally low for a common drowning victim," she pointed the numbers out to him and saw the understanding dawning in his eyes. "Suggests depletion of CO2 previous to submersion, also known as hypocapnia. Divers refer to this as Shallow Water Blackout; I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Yes, of course," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "That would explain why she was floating at the bottom of the pool. But shallow water blackout happens due to hyperventilation previous to diving... it flushes out the carbon dioxide from the body, delaying the breathing reflex. That means..." He frowned, looking at the numbers. "Not only was she alive at the time of submersion, but she was conscious."

Alexx nodded, passing a page on the folder when she believed he was done reading. "She was conscious and very agitated. Her epinephrine levels were off the charts. She must've been terribly scared. My guess is the flight impulse caused her hyperventilation."

"Makes sense, breathe heavily while running from her attacker." Eric looked back at the body. "But there was no sign of a chase in that room. What about the bruising?" he asked, pointing to the girl's shoulders, which were marked with light purple blobs.

Alexx touched the marks lightly, examining them once again. "Heavy pressure on the shoulders, could be from when she was pushed out the window."

"Do they tell us anything about the attacker?"

"Nothing, really. Anyone can make a bruise like that."

Eric looked a little disappointed. "I was hoping to have more, but I expect the water or the chlorine washed out any clues that might've lingered, right?" Alexx gave him a positive reply, and he frowned. "Anything else I should know?"

The coroner thought about it for a second. "The cut in her leg didn't come from a sharp weapon, like a knife; the skin is uneven. Though I believe from the shape that it could still be metallic in nature. A thin piece of unsharpened metal."

"We found blood in the windowsill, that's probably the source. Again, from when she was pushed."

"Yes, I see. Well, that's all I have for you, honey," she finished, accepting the folder back from Eric and moving to leave it in its place.

He gave her a smile. "That's very helpful, Alexx. Thanks. I'll make sure to put it all together so H can see it." As the examiner covered the corpse with a blanket, he gave her one last wave and left the room.

--  
--

Ryan entered the interrogation room in a hurry just as Calleigh finished asking a question. "Sorry about that, I got caught up leaving some evidence at trace." He threw her a sheepish smile as he sat down beside her. She nodded at him, dismissing his lateness, and he turned his chair around to look at the person being questioned. He went still for a second as he focused on the woman in sweatpants, bright blue socks, slippers and a t-shirt sitting in front of him. "Pamela?"

"Hi, Ryan," the blonde spoke in her usual unsure tone, giving him an unsure, albeit slightly relieved, smile.

Calleigh looked between the two. "You know each other?"

"Yes, Pamela's..." Ryan smiled lightly at the younger woman, his eyes then coming to rest on his colleague. "She's the girl from that case I told you about, the baby that was in the hospital during the gang shooting?"

Calleigh's eyebrows rose as she recalled the incident. She looked at the other woman in a whole new light. "You kidnapped a baby?"

The woman paled visibly. "I just... you make it sound horrible, it wasn't like that..."

Ryan intervened quickly. "Those were special circumstances, Cal," he assured his partner, although he was aware that Calleigh was often of the mindset that 'special circumstances' did not make it any less of a crime. Back to the woman being questioned, his tone was less uncertain. "Sorry about that," he said, giving her a lopsided smile. "So, you're involved in this?"

Pamela pursed her lips and nodded hesitantly. "I'm the Valencias' babysitter."

Ryan whistled, a bit amused by that fact. "Wow, that must be some bad karma."

The nanny chuckled, still half in disbelief. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I hope this doesn't become a habit."

Calleigh cleared her throat; obviously they didn't know they were not here to socialize. Ryan turned to her, a bit startled, like he had forgotten she was there. He uttered an apology. Pamela started to giggle, but cut herself off when she saw the serious expression on Calleigh's face. Finally, after a few awkward seconds, the questioning continued. "Miss Warren, I noticed you said you're the 'babysitter.' That means you don't stay there, right?"

She nodded. "Yes. Um, I work there regularly, but only during the day, or on nights when Mrs. Valencia can't be there. She's a very busy woman, obviously." She paused for a moment, seeming to finally hear what she'd just said, and her eyes widened. "Not that I think she's a bad mother! She loves her children, I'm sure of that. It's not like I'm trying to kidnap Tito or anything..."

Ryan had to contain his laughter, seeing her panic this way. That made Pamela realize that she was being a bit stupid. Calleigh didn't join in the laughter, however. "Nobody said you were, Miss Warren. Now, could you tell us what you were doing around the time of the murder?"

"Tito received a videogame for his birthday the past week. It's some sort of Pokemon voice-recording game. We were playing all afternoon, in his room."

"And you didn't hear anything? You didn't notice when Miss Valencia arrived, or when she fell into the pool?"

Pamela shrugged. "Not really. I'm sure you saw that the house is really big; you can't really know what's happening from the opposite wing. Mercedes' room is in the right wing, while Tito's room is on the left wing."

"She's right, the place is huge," Ryan told Calleigh. He'd been there, and he was sure he hadn't seen even half of the rooms. It's no wonder Pamela didn't even know Mercedes Valencia was at home at the time of the murder.

Calleigh had to give him that. She hadn't been there for long, but she had seen enough of the mansion to agree. "Well, how did you find Miss Valencia's body?"

The babysitter frowned. "I went to look for Tito. He'd gone to the bathroom-- made quite a fuss about going alone. He's in his 'I'm not a baby' phase, see. And he's very spoiled, used to getting his way. So when he said he didn't need any help, I just let him; figured if I stayed in the room and scored some more points for his Pikachu, he'd stop being sulky. Sometimes, when Mrs. Valencia isn't home, he likes to use her bathroom and have a bit of a lie on her bed. He's very attached to his mother. So I waited for a bit, and then went to look for him. Found him there, and as we were coming back, I thought I saw something at the bottom of the pool." She grimaced as she remembered it. "I quickly grabbed Tito and took him to his room... He started crying; I shouldn't have let him see that at all." She sighed. "Then I called 911." Her expression then turned sad. "It was horrible, seeing her like that... and the blood floating... I didn't know her that well, she was too old for a babysitter, but the few times we talked she was really nice to me. A little wild, if the entertainment news are to be believed, but she was nice."

"It's always hard, seeing a dead body," Ryan muttered, very serious.

"Yes. You'd know about that, wouldn't you?" Pamela hugged herself, almost like she was cold. "I sure hope it's the last time for me."

"There was nobody else in the house?" Calleigh cut in before Ryan could say anything else.

The younger woman shook her head. "Not that I saw, no."

"What about Mrs. Valencia? Do you know where she went in the morning?"

The response was another negative. "She didn't tell me where she was going, but I'm pretty sure she was traveling out of town. I was supposed to spend the night with Tito."

"Well, that complicates things..." Ryan whispered under his breath. The woman had to be informed of the death of her daughter, and she was nowhere to be found.

"What about Mercedes? Do you have any idea of where she went between 11:30 and 3:30?"

Pamela thought about it very hard. "I might be wrong, but I think I heard Mrs. Valencia saying something about it before she left. Something about church, and... a class? And she mentioned the name of Mercedes' boyfriend, Tommy." She shrugged. "I didn't know what she meant, she was explaining it to Tito because he wanted Mercedes to stay and play with us."

"Church on a Saturday?" Ryan wondered aloud. "And a class? She just graduated high school, why would she be attending any classes?"

The woman bit her lip. "I didn't understand it either. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

Ryan smiled at her. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out."

"Anything else you'd like to tell us, Miss Warren?" Calleigh intervened again, rather quickly.

Pamela shook his head again. "Then I guess we're done for now," Ryan told her, and she started to stand up.

"Please don't leave the city," Calleigh reminded her.

"I won't. You guys are keeping Tito, after all," she reminded the two. Until Mrs. Valencia made an act of presence, the boy would have to remain under police custody. As Pamela was not a relative and Mrs. Valencia did not leave official documentation that the child be left in Pamela's care, there was nothing else that could be done. But she still wanted to be around just in case she was needed. It was her job to take care of the kid, after all, and she cared a lot for him, no matter how much of a brat he was. "Bye, Ryan." He responded in kind with a smile and she gave him a small wave as she crossed to the outside of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Calleigh rounded on an unsuspecting Ryan. "What was that all about?" she asked him in a no-nonsense tone.

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked her, confused. He stood up, waiting for her to explain.

"You were flirting with her. During questioning." Calleigh stood up as well, giving him a hard stare.

The accusation made him frown. "What are you talking about? I wasn't. I just knew her from before."

Calleigh crossed her arms. "Give me some credit here. Your usual method of interrogation consists of telling the subject exactly how they murdered the victim, no matter how innocent they look. And usually are."

He threw her a look, like she was hallucinating, and shrugged. "So I tried being nice for once. That's not against protocol."

"You were flirting. She was flirting with you as well. It's unprofessional."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Look, if I was, I wasn't doing it on purpose, ok? And I don't know if she was flirting with me, and if she was, it's really not my fault, anyway." He took a step back, wishing she would just chill. It was all innocent, really.

Her hands moved to her hips, and she smirked in a patronizing fashion. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's the Don Johnson jacket, it makes you irresistible." She pointed to his white jacket with something akin to disdain, or at least as close to it as the normally sweet Calleigh could produce.

"Now, that was uncalled for," Ryan looked down at her, and she held his gaze for a couple of heartbeats, never backing down. Then he sighed. "Look, she's just a girl I happen to know. I'm sorry I let that come in the way of questioning. Satisfied?"

"She's not just that, Ryan. She's a possible suspect, and you're supposed to be neutral." Her expression was serious again, voice cool and sharp like a knife as she emphasized some of the words to make her point. "I think it'd be better if you just let me do the talking from now on." She turned to leave the room.

Ryan stared at her blonde hair as she walked to the door, wondering what had crawled up her alley and died that morning. He didn't like being told what to do, but he wasn't in the mood to argue. Did they always have to fight about protocol, anyway? It was starting to get really old, really fast.

He quickly followed her. They had to continue the investigation, after all. He found her talking with Natalia. "...Haven't seen him," she was saying, and Natalia seemed disappointed. "Sorry."

"That's ok, I was just hoping," Natalia dismissed the apology. "Did you finish questioning the nanny? Where are you off to?"

"Actually, we don't know yet," Calleigh's voice was back to its sweet tone, like their argument had never happened. "Her details were very vague. Something about going to church, and then a class, but we don't know what class she could be going to on a Saturday, and after church?" She was at a loss.

Natalia's brow furrowed like she'd heard something similar before. "Well, she was Catholic, right? And engaged? Maybe she was going to premarital courses, they're usually on Saturdays."

"Premarital course? In a church?" that gave Calleigh pause.

Natalia nodded. "It's not unheard of. In Florida you need to take the course in order to get a license anyway, and the Catholic Church usually encourages people that want to have a Catholic ceremony to take the course within their fold. I'd know; I had to, when I got married," she explained.

"That makes sense," Ryan intervened.

"We can find out which parish they belong to," Calleigh immediately took out her phone, starting to dial. She smiled at the CSI trainee. "Thanks, Natalia." She started walking towards the exit. "You coming?" she threw back at Ryan, who was still standing there without a purpose. He nodded and followed her, as she put her cell phone to her ear.

Natalia watched them go. She was about to go back to see if she could call Horatio, when she noticed something on the TV screen near the exit. A mob of people with cameras and microphones was surrounding someone's apartment complex. Security guards were trying to keep the people at bay, but the whole situation was getting out of control. And the title of the news story was "Just in: Mercedes Valencia murdered," with a subtitle that explained that the building in question was that of Tommy Mendez, the boyfriend.

The media frenzy had begun.

--  
--

Horatio could barely see the figure of the young man in the middle of the reporters. He was covering his face with his hand so they couldn't get it on camera, and he was pushing his way out as the media men kept shooting questions at him, all at the same time. His "no comments" were getting him nowhere.

The Head Investigator quickly pulled out his badge and with a loud "MDPD! Coming through!" he started to make his way through the crowd.

After much struggling he finally got a hold of the man's arm. "Lt. Horatio Caine, CSI. I need you to come with me, sir; we've some questions for you."

The man was a little relieved to be out of the spotlight as he was pulled into the Hummer, but he was too anxious for the relief to stick. "Officer, is it true? What they were asking? Is Merce..."

Horatio's expression was empathic to the young man's anguish as he started the car. "I'm afraid it is. I'm sorry."

Tommy's hand rose to cover his eyes as they shut together tightly, like he was in pain. "Oh, my God..."

Horatio could offer no words of comfort as the man leaned his head against the window and grieved.

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**Author's notes:** Whoa, I'm going through this thing fast. I'm usually a really slow writer, but the sentences are just flowing out of me for this one. And this chapter was longer than the previous one (7 pages!). Not to mention that the plot is starting to pick up. I hope you found it interesting and still want to know what happens next.

Just FYI, because I'm a nerd and I have to explain stuff, the chapter title, "Apnea," is just a fancy term for the suspension of breathing (whether it be by holding your breath, or external causes, it doesn't matter). Pamela Warren appeared in episode 3.12 ("Shootout"); she was a nanny who kidnapped a baby and accidentally almost choked her in the process, though she had a good reason for it, I guess. The episode stuck in my mind because Ryan remained particularly nice to her even if she did turn out to be a kidnapper. I needed a nanny for this, and I like Judy Greer, so I decided to re-use Pamela.

Thanks, you guys, for your reviews for last chapter! I've written many fanfiction stories, but I'm shaking in my pants a bit with this one, because I'm not sure I can pull off a CSI plot. But your comments definitely make me feel better! I hope you guys still feel that way after this one. RC shippers will probably find the beginning of a little something in this chapter :)

_In the next chapter!_: A late afternoon visit to a priest, interrogating the fiancé, and the mother finally makes an appearance. There might be a new suspect, maybe.


	3. Chapter 3: Reactions

**IN TOO DEEP**

**Chapter 3: Reactions**

**Disclaimer: **'CSI: Crime Scene Investigation' and 'CSI: Miami,' characters and all related terms and concepts are trademarked property of CBS Productions and Alliance Atlantis Communications. No copyright infringement is intended or contained within this story. I am in no way affiliated or recognized by CBS, just a fan writing for fun. The iPod is property of Apple computers.

**Note:** Hello! Thanks for giving this fic a try. Please don't forget to read the author's notes at the bottom; they may contain useful information to the readers. -Carla.

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·

Horatio thanked the officer who accompanied him, as she pointed him to where the little boy sat. She left, and he observed the kid through the glass. His hair was dark, darker than his sister's had been, and unruly. He was dressed in dark jeans, bright red t-shirt, and sneakers. He was also wearing black leather gloves. 

His head bobbed up and down to the rhythm of the music he was listening to. Horatio had heard one of the officers had to lend him his mp3 player to get him to calm down. Apparently he didn't take too well to being separated from his babysitter, and also wanted to see his mother. But well, thanks to the officer's quick thinking the crisis had been averted, for the moment.

As soon as Horatio opened the door to the room, the boy jumped off his chair. "Where's Pammy? Quiero a mi mamá!"

Horatio smiled at him, to try and reassure him everything was okay. "Your Mom is on her way, she'll be here soon. Your name is Tito, right?"

The kid nodded. "Are you a cop? You don't look like a cop."

"Well, there are many different kinds of cops," Horatio explained, as he sat down.

The kid didn't, he just kept staring at him as he fiddled with the buttons on the mp3 player. "Cops are only cool if they wear a uniform."

Horatio chuckled. "Well, I guess that means I'm not very cool, then." He tilted his head a bit. "Do you like the mp3 player?"

The boy shrugged. "Mine's better."

"Oh? You have one already?"

Tito nodded his head, a gleam coming over his eyes. "Yeah! At home! It's an iPod. It's blue, and it even plays movies."

"That's great," Horatio agreed, even though he wasn't completely sure he'd seen that particular technology in action. "Are you having fun with this one? Would you like a coloring book, maybe, while you wait for your Mom?"

The boy frowned deeply, like he was affronted, and then shook his head energetically. "Nu-uh! Coloring books are for babies!"

"And you are certainly not one," Horatio agreed, before the child became reluctant to speak to him. "Aren't you hot? Why don't you take off those gloves?"

Tito shook his head again. "I can't. It itches. Mi mamá no quiere que me rasque."

"No scratching, huh? Is it a rash? Allergy?" The boy nodded at the last word. "Ok, then, you don't have to take them off if you don't want to. I'd like to ask you some questions, Tito. Is that ok?"

The kid shrugged again. Horatio continued before Tito decided to ignore him in favor of the music. "Did you see anyone at your house beside you and Pamela?"

The boy took a minute to think about it. "Merce was there."

"Yes, she was," Horatio nodded at him, glad that the child was still following him. "Did you see anyone else there?"

Yet another shake of the head. "Can I go home now? Merce promised she'd play with me."

Horatio's heart became a little heavier as he looked at the innocent face of the boy; some of that innocence would be lost today, and it was up to him to break the news to him. "Tito... Listen, your sister won't be able to make good on that promise; she's not at home right now," he said, very carefully.

He frowned again. "Why not?" His tone rose steadily as he spoke. "She was swimming in the pool when we left. She promised! She has to play with me now! She HAS to!"

Horatio gently grabbed the distraught child by the shoulders. "I'm sure she didn't want to leave, Tito, but she had to."

The frown didn't go down easy. "Where'd she go?" he asked, pouting.

The Head Investigator smiled sadly at him, squeezing his shoulders just a bit, to reassure him. "To Heaven," he said, sure that the kid had heard of the concept, even if he didn't quite understand it, perhaps. It would make him feel better, to know that his sister had, in his mind, gone to a happy place. The visual would calm him; it was not an easy thing, to explain death to a 5-year-old.

His words didn't have the effect he expected, though; the boy still seemed mad. "But WHY? She promised!"

He was interrupted from saying anything else when a crying woman was lead into the room by the same officer who had brought him there. The woman didn't spare a glance at him; she immediately walked to the child. Tito went to her with a cry of "MAMÁ!" and the woman hugged his form to her, tightly, as she cried silently on his shoulder. Horatio looked away from them, turned towards the window, in order to give them a little privacy. He could hear the mother murmuring in the child's ear, asking him if he was okay. The boy nodded and asked her over and over why she was crying, and she didn't say.

Finally she calmed down a little. Her voice was still shaky when she turned to Horatio. "I'm sorry, I-- sir, what happened to my daughter?" she asked him, her voice heavily accented from her Hispanic origin and her tears.

"That's what we're trying to find out, ma'am," Horatio assured her as steadily as he could. "I'm Lt. Horatio Caine, head of CSI. Your daughter was found a couple hours ago, in your pool. She was hit in the back of her head and thrown out her balcony. She drowned."

Mrs. Valencia uttered an "Oh, my God..." and took her hand to her mouth. Tito looked at her with a confused frown, like he wanted to ask something, but refrained. "But how? How did they get inside? Was anything stolen? And nothing happened to Tito; whoever it was didn't see him..."

"We believe they simply weren't looking for him," Horatio sat down and leaned toward her, so that his voice did not carry away to the space of the room. "We believe your daughter's murder was personal, ma'am. Do you know anyone who would have something against her?"

The woman went pensive for a minute, and then the light in her eyes became harsh. "That bastard..." she muttered, teeth clenched. "It's his fault! He killed my baby!" Her anguish was more than evident in those few broken words.

"Who, Mrs. Valencia?" Horatio pressed her, trying to make sure her anger didn't cloud her mind to where she was and what she had to do.

"That low-life, good-for-nothing junkie!" She almost growled, and the child in her arms grew alarmed. "I told Merce he wasn't good news. I told her! She wouldn't listen! Now look at what happened..." She shook her head in disbelief. "Tommy Mendez. He blinded her, she couldn't see him for what he really was..."

"Tommy? Her fiancé, you mean?" Her words suddenly seemed rather hollow to Horatio. "Ma'am, need I remind you that Mercedes was under marriageable age? And her fiancé is over 24 years old; obviously your consent was needed for such a relationship... Why did you not stop it if you believed it was so wrong?"

The woman's stare became unsure, almost defensive. "I'm aware of that. They were planning on getting married after she turned 18 anyway, I couldn't stop them. He'd brainwashed her somehow, she was obsessed with him... and I could never deny my kids anything. And I figured if people were going to know she was sleeping with him, they might as well do it under the blanket of marriage." She let Tito go, signaling him to sit on the chair beside her.

"You were going to let her get married to a man you don't approve of, so people didn't think she was... loose." Horatio affirmed in a clipped tone, giving no indication that he was either pro or against the idea.

The woman shook her head sadly. "I thought she'd get over it. I couldn't alienate her anymore, she was already very rebellious by herself..." she hugged herself, trying to find some comfort. "She's always been a sickly girl, see. So has Tito. What with the asthma, allergies and such... I'm sure you saw," she said, pointing to Tito's gloved hands. "I'm used to taking care of them. No one can take care of them as well as I can. The worst thing for me would be if they rejected me; I couldn't take it." She ran her hand through Tito's head softly. The boy still sat, confused, but quiet. "I thought if I let her be, she would get over it, and break the engagement, and everything would go back to normal. I couldn't initiate legal action; the Valencia name would never live it down, and Merce would never forgive me... that's why I let it go on. But she never saw the light. And that piece of trash kept dragging her down with him... He's no good, he really is. He's a drunk, a user, he's rude, disgusting, he doesn't have a stable job or a stable life, he parties every single day... I think he was even abusive. I didn't want my daughter to go down that road. Despite what you might have heard from the media, Merce was not like that."

"So you blame your daughter's wild behavior on Tommy."

"Yes, of course. She was a nice, sweet girl until he came into her life. She had a little fun here and there, but that's normal for teenagers; nothing over the top. Until she met him, and he dragged her into his world."

_You let him do it_, Horatio thought, but didn't say it aloud. It wasn't up to him to critique her parenting, just to understand it. "You believe Tommy had something to do with Mercedes' death, then?"

Her face contorted darkly. "But of course he did. He's scum. Who else could it be?"

Horatio remained silent for a minute, then switched gears. "Mrs. Valencia, could you tell me where you were when your daughter was killed?"

"I was in the Keys with a... friend." She hesitated visibly in that last word. "We were going to spend the night there."

"I'm going to need your friend's name and address, ma'am," he told her, handing her a note pad and pen. "For verification purposes."

She looked a little affronted (the similarities between her and her son were remarkable in that expression, he noted), but took the two objects from him anyway, and started writing. "Am I under suspicion? Don't you think it would be a better idea for you to go and catch Tommy Mendez instead of being here, accusing me?"

"Just making sure we cover all the bases," he stated, as she handed him the paper and pen back.

--  
--

"So much for the doors of Heaven being always open..." Ryan muttered to himself as he and Calleigh made their way toward the Rectory. They'd tried the Parish Office but, it being after hours, there was nobody there. The security guard pointed them in the direction of the Rectory, where the Priest should be, maybe having dinner. He'd be able to help them and answer their questions, the guard had said.

He was fidgeting slightly as he stood beside her on the doorstep. Calleigh had been silent as a grave for the whole trip, and it was unnerving. He didn't understand what he had done to make her mad, really. If it was his behavior at Pamela's questioning, he'd already apologized for that, hadn't he? So why was she still mad at him?

The door opened, interrupting his musings. A small, chubby woman with dark, unruly hair looked at the pair. "Hi, we'd like to speak with Father Abdiel," Calleigh said, putting her hands on her hips to make sure the woman saw her badge without being overt. The woman's brow furrowed, like she didn't understand (perhaps she didn't speak English, Ryan thought), but the badge and the name were more than enough to have her nodding and walking inside.

A couple of (silent) minutes later, a man came out. He looked about 60, balding, wearing small-framed glasses. He wasn't very tall but he was lanky, and he was wearing black slacks and a white shirt, a camisilla. "Good evening. Is there anything I can help you with, officers?" he asked, his accent very heavy, probably Spanish. He sounded curious in a cautious way, but still willing to help.

Calleigh smiled at him. "Father Abdiel? We'd like to ask you some questions about your premarital courses."

The priest stared at her, then at Ryan for a heartbeat, and a smile grew on his face. "Oh. Oh, I am sorry," he said in an affable tone. "I thought you had come for a different... Oh, don't mind me. That is quite alright, ask away. And congratulations, of course. Have you two decided on a date?"

Ryan snorted. Calleigh's smile faltered for a second and she opened her mouth to speak, stopping briefly to glare at Ryan, whose snorts had turned into snickering. "I'm afraid you misunderstood me, Father. One girl who's taking the courses was found dead this afternoon. Mercedes Valencia. She had just arrived home when she was killed, presumably from your course. We wanted to know if you'd seen or heard anything unusual around her this morning."

The priest's cordial expression fell; he went very pale, and performed the sign of the cross on himself. "Blessed Lord... That poor young woman. She was just a kid."

"You remember her, then," Calleigh nodded encouragingly at him. "Did you notice anything strange about her today?"

The older man became thoughtful; he moved his hand to stroke his chin as he pictured the meeting that noon. "Now that you mention it, yes. She was always very nice, if a little loud. She's one of those people that are always the center of attention and love it. She was always involved in the discussions, always giving her opinion. Every meeting, she seemed to be happy to be here; she was very excited about her upcoming wedding. Today, however, she was strangely quiet, and she seemed to be in a bad mood." He explained all of this very slowly, like he was seeing the images in his mind.

"Did she give you any reason for her change in behavior?"

"I was going to ask her..." he continued in the same tone, like he was not quite there speaking to them, but instead in the Sacristy Side-Room that noon, during the Premarital Course meeting. "...When the meeting was over, but I could not. When I walked up to her, she was arguing with her fiancé. They both seemed very agitated, and I assumed it was a personal matter. I do not like intruding if the person has not asked me to, so I left them to it."

"Aren't you supposed to help them work out their problems?" Ryan asked, for the first time speaking to the priest.

The old man smiled rather condescendingly at him. "Oh, I had tried, believe me. The girl had dragged me into more than one row. They argued a lot, but by now I just thought that was simply the way they were."

"Did he seem abusive at any point?" Calleigh asked him, making note of his comments.

"Heavens, no," the man shook his head, frowning. "I would have gone to the police, if that were the case. She was only seventeen, after all." He crossed his arms, still not believing that beautiful young girl had gone to God now. "No, I always got the feeling they loved each other very much, even if they exchanged strong words often."

"Do you think she was in a bad mood because they'd been fighting previous to the meeting?"

"I do not believe so," he denied the claim with his head yet again. "She was already acting that way when she arrived at the meeting. He came in late, about fifteen minutes after she did."

Calleigh nodded, and directed a grateful expression at him. "Well, that's about all we wanted to know. Thank you, Father Abdiel. We might be back to ask you some more questions if we need to."

The man nodded as well. "Of course, Officer. Anything to help," he let her know. As Calleigh and Ryan turned to leave, he spoke up again. "How is her mother? She must be devastated. Wonderful woman, she is. Comes to church every Sunday, and has donated generously to the parish more than once." He said all of this almost to himself, like he still couldn't believe such a horrible thing had occurred.

Calleigh shared a glance with Ryan, giving him an instruction without words, before answering the priest. "We're still trying to locate her. Apparently she left town this morning, but we will do everything we can to find her, and solve this case," she explained, as Ryan whipped out his cell phone and called Horatio to let him know what Father Abdiel had just told them.

"I would expect that of you," he appreciated her attempt to reassure him. "That is what this city needs, more honest people, working and doing the right thing."

She smiled at the nice old man one last time. "I couldn't agree with you more, sir." And with that, she followed her colleague to their department-issued Hummer.

--  
--

"Hey, hotshot. Maybe you should've told us you had a rap sheet the size of New Mexico," Tripp put in, as he dropped a file in front of the disheveled man that sat in front of him.

Tommy Mendez looked up at the folder with resignation. His hair was messed up, for once not on purpose to look "cool," but because he kept passing his hands through it compulsively. His eyes were darkened, almost lifeless, and his skin was not even pale, but ashen. He could barely muster a strong enough tone to reply to the detective. "I left all of that behind."

"That's interesting, Tommy," Horatio intervened, hands in his pockets and looking toward the ground in a passive fashion. "Because I've been talking to Mercedes' mother, and she had quite a lot to say about you." He looked up to Mendez, asking him a question without actually asking him.

That made some emotion appear on the man's face. "Sure she would. That woman hates my guts."

"Well, now we know that most of those things she told us about check out in NCIC and AFIS," Horatio added.

"DUI, possession and trade of dope, coke and E, assault, lewd conduct... among others. In and out of state," Tripp interjected, giving the man a harsh stare. "Managed to get out of the convictions, did ya? Spoiled punk's got nothin' better to do with his life," he muttered, more to himself, but Horatio heard it anyway.

Tommy shook his head, almost in disappointment. "I told you, I don't do that anymore. I've been to rehab, I'm clean... The booze, I'm still working on that, but I haven't touched any drugs for a year."

"That's admirable, Tommy," Horatio shot back almost as soon as the younger man had stopped speaking, like he didn't quite believe what had come out of Tommy's mouth. "However, someone told me something today that I found very interesting."

He ran his hands through his hair yet again. "Like I said, Merce's mother hates me. Whatever she told you, it's just to make me look bad."

"Only it wasn't Mrs. Valencia this time," Horatio did the same thing again, almost cutting Tommy off. He put his hands on the table and leaned in, his voice lowering accordingly as he spoke again. "Why didn't you tell us you had an argument with Mercedes today?"

Tommy looked straight at him, then sighed and let his gaze come down. "I didn't want to remember that the last words I spoke to her were 'You're being fucking ridiculous.'"

"That may be true," Horatio replied, still looking at the man's lowered head. "But you have to realize that it makes you look guilty."

Tommy raised his head quickly, a frown in place, and opened his mouth to speak as Frank beat him to it. "So pissed off you couldn't let it go, huh? Had to go back to her place and let her have it?"

"No!" the 20-something exclaimed, eyes wide. "It's not like that! Look, so I wasn't happy with her at the moment, but I loved her, ok? I would never hurt her in any way." He shook his head energetically, adding emphasis to his words.

"She was seventeen; a jury would consider what you were doing with her as hurting her," Tripp reminded him, none too gently.

"We never had sex!" Tommy snapped back, the hands through his hair now pulling instead of soothing. He was losing his patience really quickly. His nerves weren't at their best since he heard the news about Merce.

Frank scoffed. "Yeah, now make it a Western. You really expect us to believe that? You were eight years older than her; guys like you only have one thing on their minds," he crossed his arms and glared at their suspect outright.

"It's the truth!" he exclaimed, and stood up, incensed. Horatio rushed to restrain him. He pushed him by the shoulders and pushed him down onto his chair, his shoulders immediately hunching again, like he was retreating into himself. "I tried it, asked her once, a long time ago. She wasn't ready. She was seventeen, for God's sake. She dreamed of having the perfect wedding, dressed in white and radiating innocence down the aisle. How could I ruin that? I never tried it again, and you know why? Because I loved her. My life was a mess, I was in a slump and she helped me get up and out of it. All that stuff I did in the past? The rap sheet? She helped me leave it behind."

"So you were being framed in all those pictures up in her room, is it?" Frank was still not done, even though Horatio was throwing him warning looks.

Tommy's jaw clenched tightly, with an audible snap. "So she liked partying. So did I. That's not wrong, is it? She had a limit, and she taught me how to have one too. I loved her more than life itself. I did not kill her."

"That's enough, Frank," Horatio finally snapped as Tripp was about to say something else. He tightened his hold on Tommy's shoulders for a second before releasing him, now sure that he wasn't going to jump up again. "Now, listen, Tommy. If what you say is true, then I need you to tell me what happened between you and Mercedes when the Premarital Course Meeting was over."

The young man looked up to the head CSI and nodded. He took a breath and began; the story wasn't that long. "She wasn't in a good mood. She'd had a fight with her mother because she was leaving for the weekend, with some guy. She thought it was hypocritical of her mother, to be in a relationship with a man who's so much younger than her, but be on my case because I was eight years older than her. She thought that was the only reason her mother could have not to believe I'd changed," he paused momentarily and his eyes found Tripp, who seemed to be of the same mindset as Mrs. Valencia, before returning to the table. "It made her feel really bad, it always did. She loved her mother so much."

He shook his head in disappointment. "She was always trying to get us to compromise. She asked me if I could just try once more, be nice to her mother, and maybe she would change her mind about our engagement. But... I couldn't. I was tired of her, sick of her disguised insults. She would treat me one way, and then turn to the press and assure everybody that she loved me, and that she believed I had changed, just so her famous last name wouldn't lose face." His lips trembled, like he was fighting a grimace. "I told her I wouldn't. I didn't have to take that from her. Merce got really upset, we said things we didn't mean... Then we went our separate ways. Left in different cars; I went back home and... sulked, I guess," he shrugged. "At least until I saw the story in the news and ran out to find my place surrounded by reporters."

"Your argument happened at noon, right?" Horatio asked, and Tommy responded in an affirmative manner. "She didn't get home until 3:30. Do you have any idea where she was those three hours?"

It took the man about half a second to reply. "As she left, she called someone on her cell phone. I think I overheard her saying she'd come pick the person up and they'd go have a drink. I was so mad at her, I didn't even really think about it until I was already home."

"Any idea who she called?" Horatio asked, and Tommy gave him a negative answer, explaining that she had a lot of influential friends, and that just about any of them could get her into a bar even if she was underage. That didn't leave them with many options as to how to go about finding this person. "Very well, Mr. Mendez. We'll look over everything you just told us and see where it takes us." He nodded to Frank, and both men left the room.

--  
--

Eric looked intently at the rug as he shone his fiber optic flashlight around the floor of the car. He'd already found traces of a liquid, alcoholic beverage if his nose was to be trusted, in a cup that was put in the car's cup holder, and he had high hopes of finding a clue that might direct him to another person beside Mercedes Valencia being inside this car that day.

"Hey," he heard a familiar voice address him from the garage door. He looked up to find Natalia Boa Vista leaning against the threshold with an uncertain expression adorning her face. "It's getting late. Need any help with that?"

He stared at her for a couple of seconds, and then went back to inspecting the rug. "That's ok. I don't have anything to do tonight; I don't mind taking my time with this."

She pursed her lips. "Come on, Eric, don't be like that. I'm not doing anything, and I feel really useless. If I help you, you won't have to stay overnight," she finished, putting her hands in her pockets.

He arched a brow at that. "Horatio didn't assign you anything to do?"

She was silent for a while; he guessed she had answered by shaking her head. Then, she actually spoke. "No. The media is hounding this building; this is a very public case. I think they're all afraid that I'll screw this up somehow," he could hear the frustration in her voice.

"Like dropping a test tube with blood on your way to DNA?" he couldn't help but add, smirking. A couple of weeks previous Natalia had been at a scene collecting evidence when a suspect had erupted in and she'd accidentally done just that. It wasn't held against her-- the suspect had approached in a threatening manner and she was just a trainee, so she wasn't versed in how to handle such situations. She'd been very shaken. Everything had worked out for the best, of course, but her mistake was now known all over the lab.

He could hear her huff as clearly as if she were standing beside him. "That only happened once. And I managed to fix it, didn't I? I mean, really, you'd think I couldn't use my hands, the way they've been ignoring me today."

There was silence, a rather awkward one, for a while. It seemed to stretch, and Eric chose to focus on the car instead of letting his thoughts fly elsewhere. Of course, then she tried again. "Eric... Let me help you?"

He sighed in a resigned fashion, but turned to look at her without giving anything he was thinking away. Her eyebrows rose, hopeful. "Please?" She pressed.

That broke his resistance. He nodded. "Ok. Bring up your kit. You can have this side of the back seat."

She smiled at him, satisfied, and walked out to do just that. As she got herself ready to begin, Eric broke the silence again. "By the way, don't take it personally. It's just the overexposure-- we can't risk it." She nodded, rolling her eyes a bit but understanding. "And for the record, I happen to think you're perfectly good with your hands."

That gave Natalia pause, and she turned to him, eyes wide. After a few more controlled seconds, she couldn't keep the giggles inside her anymore.

Eric looked at her with a "what?" expression when he heard her laugh, but he didn't catch on until after some time, when he rewound the tape and actually thought about what he'd just said. He couldn't help but laugh, a bit embarrassed. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh, I know," Natalia reassured him rather quickly. Wouldn't want to embarrass him any more, right? Pity she wasn't really very reassuring, as she had to press her lips tightly together to keep from bursting out laughing. He mock glared at her, but let it go at that.

They continued working in silence for a long while. It was back to awkward, they both knew it, especially now that their past relationship had somehow come up. It was the way they'd been since Natalia was found to be the mole in the lab-- tentative, not completely trusting, but still part of the same team, so they were forced to interact. After her mess with her ex-husband and Eric's injury things had gotten a little lighter, they could finally be friends, but then he started sort-of-going out with Calleigh and everything went back to weird. Admittedly it was only on her part; she wasn't expecting to feel anything, but she did, and she carefully stayed away from both of them, but Eric didn't even notice. Now that was over, and hopefully they could all get over the drama, and simply work together like everybody else. That's what she needed most at the moment.

"So what exactly are we looking for here?" she asked, mostly because the silence was deafening.

"Anything that can point us to the presence of someone beside the dead girl in this car," Eric explained, still flashing his fiber optic light around, now under the seat, without much success. "Apparently the boyfriend heard her speaking on the phone with someone about going for a drink."

"Not drinking as much as spilling the stuff all over her car," Natalia interjected in a sarcastic tone. So far all she'd found were many spatters of that one drink all over the floor. Had the girl been drinking _while_ driving?

"Well, whatever they did, that person may be our killer," he frowned, moving to the top part of the seat.

"We can't check the calls in her cell phone? I won't believe you if you tell me she didn't have one. That's impossible," Natalia said in one breath. She could be wrong, but girls like Mercedes usually had their whole lives in their personal phones. Wasn't that usually one of the very first steps, checking recent calls to know who she'd been in contact with right before death? It seemed strange they'd gone through so much trouble to search the car if there was another solution available, one that was much easier.

"She did. It's in Cooper's hands right now, but he says it's pretty much useless. It was in her pocket when she fell into the pool." He finally noticed something as he moved to the headrest. "Hey, I got something here."

Natalia stopped her own procedure and went to stand beside Eric as he picked something up with his pincer. She looked closely and saw that it was a strand of hair. "Hmmm. That's definitely going to help, I think."

Eric nodded. "You stay here; I'll take this to DNA. Hopefully we'll get an ID soon," he told her, looking in his kit for a bag for the piece of evidence.

"Oh, we don't have to wait until DNA gives us back a result," Natalia stated, dismissing his request with a waving hand. She was still looking at the pincer in Eric's hand.

Eric paused in his bagging, looking at her with a curious expression. "Oh? And why is that?"

She cocked her head and arched a brow at him. "Eric, look at it. It's blue."

He nodded, both eyebrows rising up to his hairline. "I'm guessing that means something to you?"

She crossed her arms, careful not to stain her lab coat with her cocktail-tainted gloves. "There was only one blue-haired person close enough to Mercedes Valencia as to be in plenty of the photos in her room."

"And you know who it is."

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Sure do. She's one of the most famous hairstylists in Miami. Everybody knows her. Her name's Marla."

"No last name?"

"Nope. She's like Madonna," her voice took on a dramatic tone when she spoke the last word.

They both laughed. "Well, I'm glad at least one of us stays up-to-date with celebrity gossip," he told her in a teasing tone, and she chuckled at him. Gossip or not, it could help them make their way to Mercedes' killer. "I still gotta take this to DNA, though."

She nodded, and Eric pulled a pen out of his kit, tagging the evidence bag as he walked towards the door of the garage. "Hey, Eric," she called out before he could leave, and he stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at her. "See? We can work together pretty well."

He frowned at her, not understanding. "I never said we couldn't."

Her expression turned a bit sad, but she gave him a smile, though it didn't really reach her eyes. "Yeah. I know you didn't."

He didn't understand what she meant, so he shrugged and with a last wave of his hand, left the garage to take the important piece of evidence to Valera at DNA. Apparently, they had found another suspect.

·

* * *

·

**  
Author's notes-**

Aaaahhhh, this is the part where not having seen any season 5 episodes bites me in the behind. I have NO idea how Natalia & Eric would interact past "One of Our Own." But, oh well, I guess my "creative license" can be justified because Eric spent some time in the hospital, and just generally the fact that some time is supposed to have passed between this fic and season 5. As always, if I'm going in a direction that's totally off-canon, let me know and I'll see what I can do to fix it.

Another thing that's killing me? The timeline. Gosh, how do the CSIM writers manage to make it believable to solve a case like this in a couple hours? (It's so not realistic, and I can vouch for that 100 percent-- I've been sitting in front of a GC more than once and believe me, you can't get those results in five minutes!) I guess I just chose my ETD to be too late into the afternoon. It's only been three chapters and it's already around 7:30 for them. I'll have to work that out so they don't have to stay over until 5 am the next day.

I hope you R/C shippers caught the small nod to "Collision" I dropped here. It's gotta be one of my favorite shippy moments in the series xD

Horatio makes his appearance in his "Savior of the children of the world" mode! I love it when he does that. There was also a bit of the "Sunglasses of Justice" mode somewhere in there. I think. I hope Tito came off believable, I'm really not a kid person, all the reference I have is my bratty little brother (who's not so little anymore) and my younger cousins.

Thank you so much for all your comments, everybody! You're all so nice :) I'm glad you like it so far, and I hope this chapter does not disappoint. It was waaaayyyy longer than the past two, anyway... 12 pages! But I'm feeling a bit weird about it; I think it was little more than a bunch of dialogue and no real description. I hate it when they come out like that.

_In the next chapter!_: This Marla person might just be another dead end! And the Ryan & Calleigh situation blows up... BIG TIME.


	4. Chapter 4: Anaphylaxis

**IN TOO DEEP**

**Chapter 4: Anaphylaxis**

**Disclaimer: **'CSI: Crime Scene Investigation' and 'CSI: Miami,' characters and all related terms and concepts are trademarked property of CBS Productions and Alliance Atlantis Communications. No copyright infringement is intended or contained within this story. I am in no way affiliated or recognized by CBS, just a fan writing for fun.

**Note:** Hello! Thanks for giving this fic a try. Please don't forget to read the author's notes at the bottom; they may contain useful information to the readers. -Carla.

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Ryan looked around the room as Calleigh swept her fiber optic flashlight over the bed, and the bloody plush toys. They were back at Mercedes' bedroom, looking to see if they could find anything that could put this Marla woman, or anyone else, at the scene of the crime. 

She was still giving him the silent treatment, only speaking to him if necessary, and in clipped, controlled tones. He kept to himself as well, if only because they were working at the moment. He'd speak to her later; he didn't like it when they weren't on good terms. But he hadn't had time to go over their last argument in his mind, they were all so focused on being done with this case ASAP, and he really needed to think about it before he talked to her. He didn't really understand where her reaction had come from; but he knew he couldn't just ignore it either; his OCD would make him blow up before that could ever happen.

"There's something under the stuffed toys," she finally said out loud, and Ryan had to shake himself out of his reverie. Thankfully she hadn't noticed he'd been staring at her for the past two minutes. She dug into the pile of teddy bears, being careful not to move them too much, and pulled out some fabric. A lilac shirt, apparently; it was balled up and wrinkled like it had been worn. There also seemed to be some stains on it.

"Orgasm on the rocks," she muttered.

Ryan mentally kicked himself for reacting like an elementary school boy, but he had to admit he wasn't expecting those words to come out of her mouth. His eyebrows rose up to his hairline. "What?"

"The stains," she explained as she stood back, picking up an evidence bag from her kit to put the shirt in. "It's a cocktail of some sort. I think it might be an Orgasm."

"Well, she did go out to drink today," Ryan reasoned. Eric had let them know he'd found residue of an alcoholic beverage in her car, though it was still being processed.

"It means more than that," Calleigh said, not looking at him at all, as she opened her pen to write in the evidence tag. "She got home at 3:30, but she didn't die until 4:00. If she had enough time to change clothes, it might be that she was comfortable with the person she was with."

"You don't think she would've changed clothes if she'd been having an argument with the person?" he asked, trying to follow her logic. "Like the fiancé, or her mother? I mean, she WAS soaked by the drink. I would think changing would be her priority."

"Well, I can't be sure, but it doesn't sound right to me." When she was done with the bag, she turned to the balcony. She remained quiet for a long time, staring at the bullet-resistant panels. Ryan was left to look at her back, and the intricate French braid her blond hair was twisted into. He was about to ask what she was thinking, when she spoke up. "Hey, you're left-handed. Help me out with something, will you?"

He responded positively, and walked up to her. She pointed towards the glass panels. "Let's say those windows were closed. How would you go about opening them?"

He frowned, wondering just where she was trying to get with this, but stepped forward and demonstrated, careful not to actually touch the panels. Then he looked back at her and waited. Her brow was lightly furrowed as she thought. "Left panel first, then? That's the one that was opened."

"So?"

"Our victim was left-handed."

Ryan crossed his arms. "That's not conclusive. The killer could be left-handed as well."

"It might at least help us connect some points," she explained in a very sharp tone (it almost made him wince, how cold she was to him today), then promptly turned around to pick up her kit. "I'm done here. You ready?"

"There's one more thing I want to check out," he told her, pointing outside. "I want to take the memory card from the game console in the boy's room. It might just be enough to clear Pamela. I'll be right back."

He didn't notice her stare at his retreating back, or the set of her jaw as he walked out of the room. When he finally came back to the victim's room, he found Calleigh wasn't there anymore; she was waiting for him by their Hummer. With a bit of dread he went to join her, knowing it would be another ride filled with uncomfortable silence.

--  
--

It wasn't hard for Eric to find their suspect as he walked into the establishment. It was so late, it figured she would be the only person in the Beauty Salon, her being the owner and all. She was sitting at the front desk, apparently working on some accounting. Her bright blue hair stood out immediately from the cold black and white that was the rest of the room. Eric stepped up to the desk and cleared his throat.

"We're closed," she said, without even looking up.

"Not for me," he said, flashing his badge into her line of vision. "Miami-Dade PD. I'm here to ask you some questions regarding the murder of Mercedes Valencia."

She finally dropped her pen and looked up at him with wide eyes. "Yes, o-of course. Anything."

"I understand you were her friend," he started as she got up from her seat, arms going around herself as if she were cold. "I was hoping you could tell us what happened after she left her Premarital Course Meeting at around noon."

She looked to the ground as she responded. "Well, I guess that's when she called me. She said she needed to unwind a little. Apparently she'd argued with both her mother and Tommy and she was really bummed out," she ran a hand through her hair, not noticing that some of it had fallen off of her ponytail. She seemed preoccupied. Or nervous, of course.

"So you two went out," Eric stated, more than asked. He already knew the answer, anyway. "What happened after?"

"Actually... I, uh, I was pretty swamped with work," Marla started to explain, but she seemed very unsure of her own words. "Saturday's one of the busiest days here, you see..."

"Don't even bother," Eric interrupted her before she went on. "We know you saw her today. There was hair inside her car-- blue hair. And I'm sure you'll be nice enough to let us have a DNA sample so we can confirm your presence there."

The woman went pale, even paler than she already was. Her arms tightened around her body. "Okay. Okay, I did go with her. I'm sorry, I didn't know what you would say-- it's because we went to a bar, see, and she's underage..."

"Right now I just want you to tell me what happened when you got to her place," Eric cut her off again. She was babbling, and that he did not need.

She breathed deeply and then held it in, looking at him, a bit like a flailing fish out of water. "We... we never went to her house. She wanted to go to a restaurant to actually have lunch, but she spilled her drink on herself when we were in the car; so we decided to take a rain check. She dropped me off here and left. I didn't even know she had died until I saw it on the news."

"Can anyone confirm that?"

"Well, you can ask my employees... if they're around. They don't work on Sunday."

"We will," Eric assured her, writing down a note to Trace on a notepad. "I guess that's about it. We might be back; as of now you're the last person to have seen her alive. You're not off the hook yet."

She gasped. "Wait. Wait, are you saying I killed Merce? She's one of my best friends, I wouldn't..." She started shaking lightly, Eric noticed. She must have as well, because she immediately stepped back and went to sit behind the counter again. "It's... it's okay. I guess you have to suspect anybody, right?"

"Anyone can be the murderer until the alibis check out," Eric nodded at her as a goodbye, and turned to leave. "Just don't go anywhere, all right?"

She told him she wouldn't, a little shakily. Eric simply walked out without another word. As soon as he was inside his Hummer, he took out his cell phone and dialed a familiar number. "H? Eric. We're back at zero suspects..."

--  
--

"Mamáaaa... I wanna go home! It's boring here!"

"Ya dije que no, Tito. Mamá's not feeling good, and the cops need us to stay here. Remember what happens to kids who behave badly, the doctor willl have to give you a shot. You don't want that, now do you?"

"No! But I wanna go hooooome!"

This was the scene that greeted Natalia as she walked into the waiting room where Eloisa Valencia and her son were. The kid was stomping angrily around every other word, and the mother had her head in her hands and looked like she was a second away from breaking down again. Obviously she couldn't deal very well with her son's whims when her daughter had just been murdered. "Hello, Mrs. Valencia? I'm Natalia Boa Vista, CSI Trainee."

The woman looked up at her with hollow eyes, all the while ignoring her son's furious tugging of her sleeve. "Yes? Do you need anything else?"

Natalia smiled politely at her. "Does that help? The shot threat?"

Mrs. Valencia rubbed her eyes with one hand before looking back at the CSI. She looked like the living dead. "It usually does. With his allergies he's had to be shot too many times, you won't believe the lengths he'll go to avoid a syringe."

Natalia chuckled. "How these things evolve. To think my mother used to tell me if I misbehaved, baby Jesus wouldn't bring me any presents on Christmas."

"Yes, well... even the shot threat isn't working very well at the moment," Eloisa pointed to her son, who was now huffing and puffing towards one of the corners of the room. "What was it that you needed, Miss... Boa Vista, was it?"

"Oh, yes. You seem to be very tired, Ms. Valencia, and I'm about to take a coffee break, so I thought maybe I could take Tito off your hands for a little while? I can get him something to eat, maybe give him a bit of a tour. That'll keep him entertained."

"Oh, that would be excellent, thank you so much," the woman rushed to get her purse, taking out a few dollars. "I'm not in a right state of mind at the moment, you understand." Natalia nodded as the older woman gave her the money so she could get her son some food. "Bebé, ven acá. Would you like to go with Miss Boa Vista? She'll show you around."

The boy came up to them, still frowning deeply like only a child could. "It better be fun," he sentenced.

Natalia leaned down until she was level with him. "It will be, I promise," she smiled at him. "Are you hungry?"

The kid nodded, and Natalia stood to her height again. She gave him her hand and they walked out of the room.

Natalia tried to explain things to him as simply as she could as they passed by the different labs. She didn't really know what made her want to take the little boy on a tour-- she'd never been particularly maternal, not really. But there was something about Eloisa Valencia's particular method of parenting that irked her. Not that she mistreated the kids, just that she spoiled them too much, and there was never good. A mother that had given her seventeen-year-old daughter so much free reign that she could happily stroll into a bar and get piss drunk _at noon_, and didn't see a problem there? There was something wrong with that woman. And she was starting to make the same mistakes with her son, too. So maybe Natalia was entitled to a bit of protectiveness, if only for the fact that she believed kids should be disciplined for their own good.

The kid didn't look too excited, either. Spoiled was probably too light of a word to describe him; he complained about every single machine she pointed out to him, about every room they were in and about every person she introduced him to. Now, Natalia considered herself a pretty patient person, but this was pushing it.

The finally reached the employee rest area and the boy ran to the vending machine like his life depended on it. He immediately demanded to get a soda and peanuts, though Natalia couldn't really blame him for being rude this time; he had been in the building since 5 in the afternoon and his mother had been in no state to think of going to get some food. He must've been starving. She told him to sit and eat quietly, because they couldn't really go back through the lab area with food.

While he was wolfing down his peanuts, Natalia drank some coffee and relaxed. It had been a long day, and it wasn't even over yet; she didn't know how long they'd have to stay in, probably until they had a break in the case, but it was looking almost hopeless by now. They had found nothing pointing to one specific suspect in that room, and it was getting frustrating.

That reminded her to go check up on the window handprints, so when Tito was done with his peanuts they started their way back, and she told him they'd make one more pit stop before going back to Mrs. Valencia's waiting room. He wasn't excited-- he was getting a bit fussy, wanted to go with his mother again.

"Hi, Joe," Natalia greeted Lab Tech Joseph Kayle as she entered his lab. "Any results on the prints from the windows?"

"Yes, but you won't like them," the man told her, showing her the document that contained the results.

The name Mercedes Valencia almost jumped out at her. "It was our victim? She opened the window?"

"Told you," Kayle dropped jokingly as she frowned down at the paper. "Is that the little brother?" he asked, pointing at the kid that was curiously looking around.

Natalia nodded distractedly. "But that makes no sense," she looked up at him with an disbelieving expression. "It was _her_ room. She would've known jumping from the third floor was suicide, for sure. Even if she was escaping from someone..." She discretely looked at Tito, checking to see if he was listening. It wouldn't do to talk about such morbid things in front of a little kid. He wasn't listening, though, so they both continued their conversation.

"Some people prefer doing the job themselves rather than have someone kill them," Kayle replied, shrugging. "Especially young, idealistic people." Natalia continued to look confused, so he couldn't help but add: "Don't be bummed, these things don't always make sense."

Natalia sighed. "I know. It's just..."

Before she could continue, Kayle's eyes went wide like plates and he cut her off. "Hey, what's wrong with him?" he pointed to Tito, and Natalia turned around, startled. The boy was flushed, having difficulty breathing, hands rising to his abdomen like it hurt, and making choking sounds whenever he inhaled.

Natalia ran to him and tried to fan some air towards him. Admittedly, she panicked. She didn't really know what to do in this situation-- it wasn't like he'd hurt himself, he just couldn't breathe and she had no idea what to do in that case. An inhaler? He didn't have one on him, and she doubted the mother had one on her, and she was all the way on the other side of the lab anyway; this kid needed something NOW. She turned to Kayle with a desperate expression. "Joe, go find Alexx. Now!"

The man nodded and ran out of the lab to look for the only resident medical doctor they had around. All the while, the boy's hacking seemed to get worse, but Alexx was there soon enough, and Natalia left him in her capable hands as she went to look for his mother. When she found her, she explained quickly and they both ran towards the lab, and as they ran in, little Tito was being put a respirator mask on. Soon enough an ambulance had arrived and he was hoisted into a stretcher so he could be taken out to it. The mother quickly identified herself to the paramedics and they went on their way to get the child treatment.

Natalia watched them go with a heavy heart; this was the last thing this family needed after the tragedy they'd been through. She felt very guilty, though she couldn't know this would happen, really. She had only been trying to help. Alexx assured her the child would be okay, that it had probably been an allergic reaction to something and that they could control it without any major problems. That didn't reassure Natalia very much.

--  
--

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Calleigh strode purposefully out of it and towards Horatio Caine, who was walking towards them, down the hallway. Ryan barely had time to react to her speed, and she was ahead of him by a long way when he started to follow. However, the distance wasn't large enough for him not to hear what she said to their boss, because her words were loud and clear. "Horatio, I don't think Ryan should be a part of this investigation."

"WHAT?!" That definitely made him react, alright. He was by their side in barely a couple of strides, and stood there staring at her like she'd just plunged a knife through his heart.

That was surely a phrase no-one ever imagined would come out of Calleigh's mouth, for even Horatio himself looked surprised, and that was a hard trick to pull. He readjusted his position as he often did, putting his hands in his pant pockets, and cocked his head toward her as he asked her: "Say that again?"

Calleigh crossed her arms and still fixed her steely gaze on her superior, never once looking Ryan's way. "I didn't want it to come to this, but he obviously cannot be neutral about this case, in particular one of the suspects."

Ryan now turned to Horatio, defensively. "That's not true, Horatio--"

His boss cut him off by raising his hand. "I know, Mr. Wolfe. Calleigh, we will talk about this, but not right now. There's been an accident; Eloisa Valencia's son had an allergic reaction to something within the lab and I have to be at the hospital now. We'll deal with this later. Okay?" Calleigh didn't look too happy and Ryan didn't look too relieved, but they both nodded. He quickly stepped up to the elevator and out of their sight.

Ryan rounded on Calleigh barely half a second later, his jaw clenched tightly and his eyes showing just how livid he really was. "What the hell was that?!" He had no care in the world that they were in the middle of the reception hall and anyone could hear him. He'd taken a lot of crap from her today, but he wasn't taking this.

She didn't back down one inch. Of course she wouldn't, she was tough; she wasn't "Bullet Girl" for nothing. "You're letting your feelings for this girl get in the way of your job. I can't let you jeopardize this investigation that way," she stated, staring straight at him, almost in defiance. Her tone was steady and controlled, as it had been all afternoon, at least with him.

"Jeopardize?! Where do you get this from? I've done nothing if not by procedure! I just-- I don't know where you're getting this from!" He gesticulated with his hands as he choked on his words. He couldn't believe she was doing this to him, and over something as stupid as his barely-existent acquaintance of Pamela? It was insane!

"You're deliberately searching for evidence to prove that girl's innocence," she said, pointing to the evidence bag that was in his jacket pocket, which held the memory card from Tito's videogame, as if it was proof enough of his bias. "You're supposed to be completely neutral. Who's to say you won't miss a crucial piece of evidence if it acts against her? She could have killed this girl, for all we know."

Ryan scoffed at her. "That's bullshit. Whatever happened to being innocent until proven guilty?" He turned around, like he was going to bolt out of there, but then he only ran a hand through his hair and sharply turned back to her. "Look, I'm only doing my job, okay? Why are you getting on my case about this? I don't get you!"

Her position didn't change at all. "Look, I'm sorry, but your feelings for this girl--"

"There are no such feelings!" he exclaimed almost desperately. The frustration was getting to him, word by word. "There is NOTHING between me and Pamela! This is ridiculous! Can't you take my freakin' word for it?! There is NO reason for you to react like this..." his word died as he heard what he was saying. He had a realization; a certain thought passed through his mind, one he thought he'd buried deep down for good. "You know what? Just stop. This isn't about the job, and it's not about Pamela. It's about you."

She frowned, hands falling slowly down at her sides as she tried to understand what he meant. "What? Of course it's about the job. Don't deny it, okay? I'm not blind OR stupid."

"No, it's not," he snapped at her, taking one step closer. His eyes were narrowed, and his stance was incredibly tense, like he'd been pricked painfully. He pointed his hand at her as he spoke, completely serious. "It's not. And you know what? I want you to stop toying with me."

Calleigh's hands stopped their descent and went to her hips. "What are you talking about?"

"You can't do this to me now," he continued like he hadn't heard her, and for a second Calleigh had the feeling he was talking to someone behind her, but his eyes were so deeply focused on hers, it couldn't be. She could see his anger and confusion reflected in the mossy green of his irises. She didn't know what he meant by 'this.' She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she was not shying away from this argument.

"I'm not toying with--"

"Yes, you are!" he cut her off harshly, taking another step towards her. "God, I can't believe you!" His hands balled into tight fists and then opened again, convulsively, like he was about to do something drastic. She knew he would never, though, not to her. She wasn't afraid of him. "Damn it," he muttered, and then raised his voice again, like he had simply cursed at himself. His eyes blazed as he looked back at her. "I was already over this!"

She shook her head. "You're not making any sense. Over what? I don't know what you mean. Look, I know you're upset, but--"

He cut her off again. "No, you don't know what I mean. You don't know what it is to feel like the geeky little high school freshman who's head-over-heels in love with the senior head cheerleader but won't ask her out because he can't manage to get two words out when he's near her." He took one of his hands to his forehead; his head was bursting with pain, he was that agitated. "You don't know what it is to long so much for something, but put it down because of the job. Or because of friendship. Or because you feel you'll screw everything up, as usual."

She tried to interject something there, but he didn't stop his tirade. "I put up every barrier, you know? I had gotten used to the idea that I was thinking too much into things. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? OCD and all. I was fine with it. You have no right to treat me this way now! What, do you feel you need to have me eating out of your palm all the time? The moment someone else pops up in my horizon, you lash out? It doesn't work that way."

She was genuinely puzzled now. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? How had their argument deviated from their job to this? He was going into issues that were much too deep, and she wasn't comfortable dealing with this out in the open. She wasn't comfortable dealing with this at all, actually. She'd just wanted him to stay focused on his job, not make him say these things, not at all. And he was close; too close to her. "What? Ryan, you're off. That's just--"

"Crazy? No. You don't know what you do to me, Calleigh. It's not fair! I was done, I-- I watched you get together with Delko, for God's sake! Do you know what that did to me?" His hands went to his hair, balling into it just short of pulling, and he threw her a rather anguished gaze toward her.

Her eyes narrowed and clear green fire erupted in them. "Don't bring Eric into this!" she exclaimed. She couldn't help being defensive about that particular situation. Ryan had not reacted well to her relationship with Eric, and though they'd made peace, she could see that it still affected him. At that moment she hadn't understood, but maybe now she did. "Look, I don't care if you two keep up this competition over everything. Just don't extend it to me, okay? You're acting like two little kids who're fighting for their mother's attention and it's getting ridiculous."

He gave a chuckle, but it was clear he was not amused at all; it was a cynical, hollow laugh. "Oh, that might be HIS reason, but believe me: Of all the things I want you to be to me, my mother is _not_ one of them." Any hint of a smile, cynical or not, was gone when he finished speaking. His voice had rung deep, echoing in her mind, and his gaze was smoldering.

She almost shuddered, and she didn't understand why. She swallowed hard; it was too much to take at once. She took a step back. Not only that, but she actually backed down and to him, it was like she tried to escape-- from him, his gaze, his accusations-- and he couldn't believe it. But soon enough, her guard was back up. Ryan almost saw her shut the metaphorical door on him once again. She actually looked sideways for a long while, and when she gazed back at him, he saw she wasn't giving up: the strength in her eyes was still there, but the burst of righteous indignation was gone. There was just a quiet determination in the fact that she was doing the right thing. "What's done is done."

"Sure. Whatever," he said, raising his hands as a sign of surrender, but the edge in his voice was still there, because he was still angry as hell, and confused, and disappointed, but he just didn't want to do this anymore. It was pointless. "I'm not getting into this. Do whatever you want, okay? I'll deal with Horatio, what the hell. I just can't do this right now." With that his hands went into his pockets and he turned around, stalking off to the A/V Lab to drop off his evidence bag.

She took a deep breath as he left. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but her head was pounding. She leaned a bit against the unoccupied receptionist's desk, going over their argument in her mind, for the last time. She didn't need this right now, nor did she want it. She really didn't know why she'd focused so much on Ryan's relationship with the nanny, but that's just the way she was, and if she saw something she saw was wrong, she had to do something about it. She didn't mean for it to get out of hand, and she hoped it wasn't irreparable. Everything he'd said just now, it had cut into her, and she didn't like being at odds with Ryan.

Setting her shoulders straight, she resolved to get it out of the way for the moment. Her main priority now was the Valencia investigation; she'd revisit this issue later on. And with that conclusion she started on her way to Trace. She had a hunch about the case, and she wanted to get it out of the way, right now.

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**  
Author's notes:**

Ugh. See, that's the bad thing about being a writer-- the way you feel is determined by the mood in each scene you write. And after writing that last scene, I have a huge headache. I think I wrote myself in circles but that's okay, it's supposed to feel a bit disjointed, right?

This installment was about 9-10 pages, which is not so bad; not quite as long as chapter 3, but longer than the other two. The title of the chapter, "Anaphylaxis," is the medical term for an acute and severe allergic reaction. Symptoms include breathing problems, abdominal & chest pain, flushing, anxiety and all it involves (possible accidental self-injury, tears, low blood pressure, fainting), and such. I should know, I've been through it, and it's definitely not pretty. I used it for the obvious reason, Tito going through anaphylactic shock, but there's also a hidden reason that you probably won't get because it probably only makes sense in my own warped mind.

An "Orgasm on the rocks" is a cocktail based on Irish cream and a triple sec (80 proof) liquor such as Grand Marnier or Vodka, served with ice. Depending on where you get it from, it can also include a 40-50 proof liquor like Amaretto or Cointreau, or be mixed with Crème de Cacao, and it can be garnished with cherry or not. You can also have it in shots. I have no idea if it's good, as I don't drink... I admit I used it purely for the name, because I'm immature like that P I think Calleigh would know it; she recognized the Cosmopolitan in "Legal," after all, though it doesn't sound to me like these two drinks are really in the same league.

Also, if you hadn't noticed, Jonathan Togo (Ryan) IS left-handed. I just noticed as I was watching "Collision" a couple days ago, that he handles his gun with his left hand. Thought it was a neat tidbit to know 3 Also, that one line from Ryan to Calleigh about him not wanting her to be his mother, was shamelessly plagiarized from the JQ:TRA fanfic "Summer Camp" by Debbie Kluge, part of the "Jealousy" Universe which is, IMHO, the single best JQ:TRA fanfic series there is. I modified it a bit, as it was Jonny telling Jessie he didn't see her as his _sister_ in the fic.

Fellow shippers, don't kill me yet! Things can only go up from here, believe me. That was rather intense, but they'll calm down sooner rather than later. Really. I hope they're still in character, though, especially Calleigh because I have no idea if she would really react this way. I've tried to peg down her personality, really, but with each new episode I see, one stone in my "Calleigh" structure drops out and I'm forced to change my mental image of her.

I have no idea how Natalia would react around kids. She seemed worried about that boy in "Collision," but my guess is that it was more about the abusive father-husband than about the boy himself. I just want to give her a bit more time in the spotlight, though, because she's my favorite female character in the series. I don't know why so many people out there seem to hate her, she's not that bad, really...

Again, thank you so much for all your reviews! I only got about three for last chapter... not that I'm complaining! They're all very nice, of course. I just gotta warn you, I'm notorious for being really slow in my writing. The fact that I'm writing this is not only a hair's width short of a miracle, but it's also a testament of how into CSIM I am right now. But that might change any second, and you gotta keep prodding me about it, or my CSIM muse might decide to take a Vacation to Tahiti without my consent. I'm not kidding, really-- I have fanfics that have been "waiting for inspiration" for YEARS. Check out the pitchforks my readers from other fandoms are pointing at my rear if you don't believe me. Please review:)

_In the next chapter!_: Advice is freely given all over the place. The workday is finally over, and so is the tension among our characters. There's a big break in the case. And someone tries to take a big leap, though you might be surprised at who it is.


	5. Chapter 5: Home

**IN TOO DEEP**

**Chapter 5: Home**

**Disclaimer: **'CSI: Crime Scene Investigation' and 'CSI: Miami,' characters and all related terms and concepts are trademarked property of CBS Productions and Alliance Atlantis Communications. No copyright infringement is intended or contained within this story. I am in no way affiliated or recognized by CBS, just a fan writing for fun. The book _CSI Miami: Riptide_ is owned by just about the same corporations, and written by Donn Cortez. The movie _Grease_ is property of Paramount Pictures.

**Note:** Hello! Thanks for giving this fic a try. Please don't forget to read the author's notes at the bottom; they may contain useful information to the readers. -Carla.

**Note 2:** Besides the usual "Science Content" one (because I'm too much of a geek to not point out every single forensic detail possible), there's another warning-- this chapter could be subtitled "the loooong one where nothing happens until the very end." So have some patience, please. And don't skip anything! There are some clues about the murder here and there, in between the mushy stuff :3 -Carla, again.

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"Thank God that it was a minor attack," Eloisa Valencia told the head of the MD CSI day shift as she stroked her son's head. "I don't know what I would have done... That woman could have killed my son, Lieutenant. If things weren't already complicated enough, I would consider suing your lab." 

"There was no way Natalia could've known, Mrs. Valencia," Horatio tried his best to do some damage control from across the hospital bed. The little boy was not in any danger; the allergy was quickly controlled, although the doctors did want to keep Tito in for the night, to observe how the rush winded down. "You did not inform her that Tito could have an adverse reaction to peanuts."

"Tito knows he can't have nut products," the woman assured him, like her word was law. She said it, and there could be no doubt.

"Why don't we get Tito's version of the facts, Ma'am?" he tried his best to sound conciliatory. He leaned down towards the five-year-old, who was busy pushing buttons into a hand-held videogame that his mother had bought him from a nearby gift store to keep him entertained. He already had three like it back home. "Tito," he started, looking sideways at the boy, with his glasses in his hands. "Did you ask Miss Boa Vista to buy you peanuts?"

The boy barely looked up from the game to reply; he only shrugged, not very bothered by the question. "Yep. Mamá never lets me have peanuts."

The woman flinched visibly, but did not utter anything remotely resembling an apology to the Lieutenant. "Bebé, you know you can't have peanuts. They make you sick. Next time get something else to eat, okay?" In Horatio's personal opinion, that had been as close to a reprimand as he himself was to a fairy princess, but he should not say anything. The woman patted her son's head as the kid's attention went back to the videogame.

The smile on the man's face was pleasant; on anyone else, it might have seemed gloating, but not on Horatio Caine. "They may be innocent, but sometimes kids are also very good at convincing themselves that they've done nothing wrong." The woman crossed her arms and gave him a hard stare. "Very well. I understand you will spend the night here with your son." The designer nodded curtly. "Okay, here's what I need you to do: when Tito is free to go, stay in one of your other properties for the next couple of days. If for some reason you need to stay in a hotel, or have any other particular problems, let me know." He handed her his card, which she accepted grudgingly.

She stared fixedly at the numbers in the piece of paper. "Is the investigation going to take much longer? I thought you had already found Tommy Mendez."

Horatio smiled at her tenacity. Shuffling a bit, and fiddling with the earpiece of his sunglasses, his gaze rose up to her. "I'm afraid that as helpful as the information you gave us was, Mrs. Valencia, we have not found any evidentiary support towards the theory that Mr. Mendez murdered your daughter."

The woman didn't even flinch this time. Her dark stare was fixed on Horatio's police badge. "So it's going to take some time." She walked away from the bed and towards the small coffee table that was on the opposite side of the room. There was a small, translucent pitcher full of icy water on it. She took a glass from the tray that held the pitcher and poured herself some. "I need this to be done quickly. I have funeral arrangements to make, not to mention I can't be away from my company for such along time. Press conferences need to be held..."

"You may be in a hurry to tell the world how much you loved Mr. Mendez and how betrayed you feel about what he did to your daughter," Horatio said, feeling like his usual patience was slipping by the second. Murderers and child molesters were on the top of his list, but hypocrites were not far behind. This woman put everything-- even the circumstances surrounding her daughter's death, even her son's health and the way he was raised-- behind her reputation, and that was something he would never be able to understand. "But that will have to wait. Right now what you should do is spend time with your son and your family. They need you, as you should need them." He put on his sunglasses as he turned to leave the room without even muttering a goodbye. The woman offered no comment as she kept sipping her water on the nondescript mini-sofa. "Yes, family sounds about right, at the moment."

--  
--

Ryan took one look at the contents of the folder and then stalked off towards a certain lab without giving one thought to what he was doing. There was a resolute skip in his step. He had to cross almost half the lab, and he didn't even say a word to anyone, even if many people were walking in and out of each respective area in their haste to finally go home. But not Ryan; he was determined to get to one place, and one place only.

When he got there, he stopped abruptly at the threshold. There she was, pouring over what looked to be a t-shirt, with a magnifying glass. Her long braid fell down her back, just over her pure white lab coat. She was so focused on the piece of evidence in front of her, that she didn't notice he was standing right there. In any other case he would've stayed there, watching her for a moment, or walked in with a greeting, asking about what she was doing. Not today, though. Not after what had happened between them.

He simply took a couple strides into the room, stopped two feet short of the opposite end of the table to where she was, and dropped the folder he was carrying straight under her nose, beside the t-shirt she was inspecting. She was a bit startled, and it was noticeable in her eyes as she looked up at him.

He gave her a hard stare. "Voice recognition determined Pamela's continued presence in the boy's room until 4:13. She's innocent. There you have it." And with that, he spun on his heel and left the room. She didn't open her mouth at all, but did open the folder to glance at its contents.

Ryan was making his way down the hallway when Eric Delko stepped in his path. "Hey, who's helping Calleigh follow up that t-shirt? Was that you?"

"Don't know, don't care," Ryan snapped, barely throwing him a glance.

He was about to sidestep Delko in order to reach the elevator, but the other man stopped him before he could move, by grabbing his arm. "Whoa, whoa, there. You can't go around biting everyone's head off just because Calleigh has you sleeping in the doghouse, you know," he told him, with a disbelieving, eyebrows-raised kind of smile.

Ryan's jaw tensed and he abruptly snapped his arm free of Eric's hold. "Listen, you don't know what you're talking about, okay?"

"Wait, who's sleeping in whose doghouse now?" Dr. Alexx Woods had heard the commotion as she stepped out of the elevator, and walked up to the two men, holding some files in her hands.

"It's not like that," Ryan was quick to answer her, at the same time Eric said: "What, you haven't heard?"

Alexx gave them a sly look, with one eyebrow arched elegantly. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," Ryan let out, in exasperation. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he couldn't come up with anything believable to say. "What are you still doing here, Alexx?" he finally managed to spout out, in a rather desperate fashion.

Alexx's other eyebrow rose to meet the first one. "Well, I'm happy you're so glad of my presence here, Ryan." He opened his mouth yet again, probably to say he hadn't meant it that way, but she interrupted with a conciliatory smile. "Don't worry, I was just here checking on my notes for that poor girl's post. I've been thinking, and something doesn't quite fit, I think."

"What do you mean?" he immediately switched gears, the case being more important than anything else, especially at almost 10 PM. Eric also seemed much more interested in what Alexx had to say.

"Well, I was looking at the cut in her thigh," she explained, as she opened the folder she was carrying and showed them a photo. "I had originally thought that it was made when she was pushed, but the edge of the skin is ragged, like she was cut with a sideways motion. Left to right."

"Natalia told me the prints found on the windows were the vic's," Eric explained, looking carefully at the pictures. "And she was left-handed. It seems like she opened the window herself."

"How do you cut yourself in the leg against the windowsill when opening a window, though?" Ryan wondered out loud, his mind flying back to Mercedes Valencia's balcony. It seemed like an awfully complicated scenario. For all they knew, it could be. No matter what college professors said, sometimes the answers really WERE complicated to figure out. He knew; he was a Chemistry major, after all.

"Maybe she was dizzy, lost her balance and was leaning against the window," Alexx suggested.

"She had just come from a bar, after all," Eric reminded them.

"Blood alcohol level was way below the legal limit for driving, though," Alexx cut in. "She was a rail alright, but I still don't think she would've been drunk when she died."

"Maybe the rush of being attacked?" Ryan tried to guess. "You did say she was pretty agitated."

"She was," Alexx almost sighed, more to herself than to the two men. One of her hands rose to cradle her cheek as she thought, her gaze lost somewhere in the photograph she'd showed the CSIs just a couple of seconds ago. Something just didn't add up to her, but she wasn't sure why. The girl was young, and the levels of epinephrine in her blood were so high... and there was no sign of a struggle almost anywhere in her room... "I'll have to think this through some more. But that'll be later on. Now, what were you saying about a doghouse?"

Ryan rolled his eyes at her, the stress coming back to tense his shoulders. "It doesn't matter. I'm going home now. Horatio said we could go."

"You really shouldn't drive in such a rage, honey," Alexx told him, closing the file and holding it under her arm as she lightly patted Ryan's shoulder.

"Yeah, you listen to her, 'honey,'" Delko joked, taking a couple of steps back as he signaled Ryan with both his hands. "Look, only thing I can say is take it easy with Cal; that one doesn't need a gun to make you hurt."

"I know," he sighed. She'd even told him so, once. He believed it then, and he believed it now more than ever.

"I'm gonna go help her. Someone has to," Eric said, a bit amused still at Ryan's predicament, and turned to go to where the younger CSI had come from.

"Why don't you come and help me pack up the files I pulled out?" Alexx offered with a smile. "It'll give you some time to relax and it'll help me get out of here faster."

Ryan took a breath, and one of his hands moved from his waist, to lightly scratch his face. "Okay," he finally relented, and she led the way toward the elevator.

Alexx handed him a stack of papers that needed organizing. He worked diligently and in silence, as she went around turning off a few of the machines she'd been using. "So, I take it something finally happened between you and Calleigh?" she started. He could only see her back as she punched keys in a computer keyboard, but he knew she had to be smiling that "Alexx" smile of hers. The one she used with the "Awww, my babies are all grown up" tone.

"What do you mean 'finally'?" He was going to try to play dumb, but her choice of words surprised him. He thought no one knew about his... issue with Calleigh until the actual argument had happened. Then again, Alexx was very perceptive.

She turned around and fixed a no-nonsense stare on him. "I may spend most of my time down here, sweetie, but I haven't missed the puppy-dog glances you've been throwing her way ever since she and Eric broke up."

Many reactions converged on Ryan's face at once: He colored, eyes widened, jaw dropped. Being perceptive was one thing, but he hadn't expected her to be so blunt. He started spluttering indignantly. "There's been no such-- What-- Puppy-dog?! I have NOT been throwing her any glances..."

She gave him "the smile" again. "Mm-hmm. Sure, Ryan. So what happened today?"

Still a bit embarrassed at the "puppy-dog" comment, he proceeded to tell her a shortened version of the events. After he was done, he put his hands in his pockets and leaned against Alexx's desk, sighing in dejection. "I just... I can't believe she did this. I don't know where this all came from."

"Sounds to me like you do," Alexx replied, as she finished checking the last database in the computer. They were just about done, but there was no way she was leaving this examination room without having this talk with Ryan. He looked like he desperately needed someone to tell him what to do. He was standing at a crossroads and she felt she could at least give him enough of a push so that he might decide by himself which direction to take.

"I thought I did," he admitted, looking down, a bit uncomfortable. He wasn't used to venting out his problems in front of others; he'd always sought refuge in his mind, without making anyone else privy to his thought process. But he knew Alexx was only trying to help, so he was as honest as possible. He owed her a lot, and he wasn't going to repay her kindness and maternal care with rudeness. "But she keeps making it about the case... I'm not sure anymore. Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see."

"That's the problem with you CSIs," she smiled at him, arms crossed in a light hold around herself. "You're so caught up on the science that you don't see what's within you." She rested her hip against the backrest of her chair, and regarded him with an amused air. "Have you thought that maybe Calleigh also saw what she wanted to see? She's a smart girl, God bless her, but when it comes to feelings she tends to suppress anything that she can't control."

"So you're saying... she does... feel something," he concluded, tentatively. It wasn't a question (though the arch in his brows was enough of a question mark) but it wasn't an affirmation either (no matter how matter-of-fact his tone was), the way the words flowed out of his mouth.

"No, I'm not saying that," she was quick to explain. She didn't want him to make any decisions based on a misunderstanding. "I love Calleigh, but I can't presume to know what's in her heart. I'll put it this way. It's like I tell Janie and Bryan: When a person yells something at you, they're actually trying to tell you something else, something more important. But it comes out as a whisper, and you can only hear it if you stop the yelling." She gave him a pointed stare. "Do you understand?"

He chuckled, finding it very funny that she was giving him the same advice she gave her pre-pubescent children. But that was Alexx for you, a mother first and foremost; and well, he WAS the youngest member of the Miami-Dade CSI team. "Yeah, I think I do," he admitted with a half-smile.

She sighed and walked up to him. "See? Got you smiling again." Putting a hand on his forearm, in an attempt to comfort him, he guessed, she shook her head as she spoke. "You really need to talk to her, baby," she spoke in a concerned but conciliatory tone. "And I mean sit down and really talk about this. It's the only way you'll both know for sure." She lightly stroked his arm as he looked toward the floor, in deep thought. The whole room was quiet as death for a few moments. Then Alexx spoke up again: "Now, let's go. I've been away from home for far too long today."

Ryan finally nodded, and they both walked out of the examination room, saying their goodbyes as they separated outside. She was going home to her family. He had something else to do, and it just couldn't wait.

--  
--

"Ok, so what are we looking for here?" Eric asked as he secured the last button on his lab coat. He moved to stand beside Calleigh, who was still pouring over the delicate baby-tee. "Hey, that's not the cocktail-soaked t-shirt," he noticed. It was actually the white, lace-lined top that Mercedes Valencia had been wearing when she was found floating in the pool.

"Yeah, I know," Calleigh nodded, handing him the ALS she'd been using and the corresponding protective eyewear. "Our vic had bruises on her shoulders, she was possibly shaken before she jumped or was pushed out the window." She grabbed a pair of tongs and started examining every inch of the sleeves, to see if she could find any traces. "I was thinking that if we found anything in it, like epithelials, saliva or something like that, we might be able to place someone else in the room with her. She only changed her clothes when she got home."

"That'll be tough," Eric told her, putting on the goggles and moving to look over the neck of the garment. It was soaked with blood, probably from the trauma to the victim's head. "She was floating for a while. Anything might've been washed out."

"They don't call it the universal solvent for nothing, I know," she sighed. "I'm hoping for a stubborn stain, myself."

"Well, all I see is blood," Eric said, but still kept helping. It was their job to keep looking, no matter how clean the object seemed. "So... you and Wolfe, huh?" he said after a while, throwing a lopsided smile her way, a quirk in his voice.

Calleigh bit her lip. She'd been hoping he wouldn't bring it up. "Yeah. I had no idea."

Delko scoffed. "Me neither. Who would've thought? You're nothing like the other girls he's dated."

"And thank God for that," she laughed. She didn't think it was flattering to be compared to Erica Sykes, and while she liked Natalia just fine, she was very aware that they had very little in common, other than their job and that their dating record had one common entry. "I don't know what to do. I don't want things to be awkward between us."

"You should've thought of that before you went to Horatio," Eric reminded her pointedly. "Why did you do that, anyway? Now Wolfe's so pissed, he's spitting fire. A while ago I asked him where you were and he just about killed me."

"I honestly thought he could be biased," she repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Why did everyone think there was an ulterior motive for what she did? It didn't matter anyway; regardless of what she felt about it, if there was the slightest possibility that the case could be dismissed due to Ryan's involvement with the nanny, she was right to request that he not work on it. She mock-glared at Eric. "And you should take some of the heat, anyway. I'm almost sure this whole thing is your fault."

He turned disbelieving eyes towards her. "My fault? What do you mean? I didn't do anything."

"Maybe he's trying to compete with you over me," she told him frankly. She'd been smack in the middle of their testosterone-fueled "competition" for a long time (and oh, how she hated that territorial-male-turf-marking idiocy, though she did admit it had been helpful in some of their cases). She had no idea how she'd feel if it turned out that everything Ryan said was just a way to get one up on Eric, but she was fairly certain she wouldn't like it, at least on a professional level. She was no rope to be playing tug-o-war with.

Eric thought about this for about a second, then shook his head. "I wouldn't put it past him." He wasn't sure sometimes what went through the younger man's head, so he really couldn't say. He just hoped that even if it was that way in the beginning, that it didn't make Ryan's feelings any less true. For Ryan's own sake, that is; if he just liked her because Eric had been with her, there would be one pissed-off Calleigh roaming the lab hallways and she was dangerous even if unarmed.

"You know, don't take this as a blessing-- because it's not," he hurried to explain, so surely that Calleigh wondered how he could say such a thing with a straight face. She laughed; boys will be boys. "It most definitely is not. But you really gotta talk to him."

She nodded silently. She knew she needed to fix things; it was her actions regarding Ryan's ability to stay neutral, or apparent lack of it, that made everything worse, after all. But she didn't know how to go about it. In the state he was in, Ryan was like a ticking time bomb. One wrong word and he would blow up. She was very well-versed in that aspect, words, but she was at a loss in this particular situation, and she didn't want things to go further down the drain.

Eric knew what she was thinking, somehow, even if she wasn't looking at him, so focused on her piece of evidence as she was. He didn't want to pry anymore; she hadn't said once that she actually had feelings for Ryan, but she hadn't said she didn't, either. For all he knew, any future conversation between her and the younger man would only end up with her rejecting him. "Don't be scared, you never know what's gonna happen. I mean, look at us: we had a relationship that failed and still here we are, working together like always. Who knows what started it? Lust, settling... Florence Nightingale Effect..."

She glanced at him bemusedly, out of the corner of her eye. "Oh, Eric, don't downplay what we had. This is completely different."

"Yeah, I'd say so. Wolfe's got nothing on me," he said, but this time Calleigh knew he wasn't serious.

She had to drop her tongs to cover her mouth, she was laughing so hard. "Well, you know, he does have very nice arms," she said suggestively, when she caught her breath.

Eric's reaction was completely hilarious to her, and the laughter came back full-force: he'd frowned so comically, like he'd been affronted by her comment somehow. "Oh, I do not need to hear this," he told her, finally breaking the serious mask as he joined in the laughter.

They set to work again, thankful for the small break. Eric was a bit surprised when Calleigh moved in and turned the shirt inside-out. "What is it?"

"Just a hunch," she explained as she again took the magnifying glass and started combing through the fabric. "If the victim was shaken, the hands might have slipped under the t-shirt. Have to make sure nothing was left behind."

He nodded, and then noticed something. "Hey, look at this." He pointed towards the short sleeve, where a small patch of dark red could be seen, almost completely shadowed by the seam. Calleigh moved the magnifying glass over to that side and effectively, there was a stain there that probably would not be visible from the outside; the fabric was just thick enough to make sure of that. "Is that blood?"

"I don't think so," she asserted, quickly looking in her kit for a pair of scissors to cut the sample. "It's too dark, compared to the other stains. And besides, it couldn't have come from her head would, not in that position."

"Peters already left, we'll have to run it through LCMS ourselves," Eric commented as she bagged and tagged the little white square.

"You can go, if you want. I want to stay until it's done..." Calleigh started to say, but was interrupted by a light knock against the door.

They both looked up to see Ryan standing at the threshold, looking a bit hesitant. "Hey, guys. Found anything?"

"Actually, we did. We just don't know what it is yet," Eric explained, noticing that Calleigh's frame went very still the moment she heard Ryan's voice.

"That's great." He shifted in his feet, hands in his pants' pockets as he leaned against the doorframe. "Um. Listen, Calleigh... we need to talk," he started, uncertainly. She was carefully avoiding looking at him, and that was not a good sign. "I was just about to head out, get some food... I was thinking that maybe you could, uh, come with me? Dinner's on me."

She was silent for a couple of heartbeats, still studiously looking down. Eric's attention went from her, out of the corner of his eye, to Ryan, back and forth. Wolfe looked like his feet wanted to hightail it out of there, and he was only staying in place through sheer force of will. Calleigh looked as uncomfortable as he'd ever seen her. "I'm not done with this just yet. Maybe some other day," she finally answered him.

"I can take care of it if you want, Cal," Eric hurried to intervene. The cloud of disappointment that had left Ryan when she replied was almost tangible. And he agreed; they really needed this. Smooth out whatever wrinkles their argument had caused in their relationship. She looked at him, feeling guilty for actually considering leaving him here with all the work at this hour. "Really, it's no problem," he assured her. "I can handle it. Maybe I'll even ask 'Talia to help me; I'm sure she's still around."

Calleigh's eyebrows rose at the nickname, and the familiarity. Last she'd heard, Eric and Natalia were still functioning like perfectly civil colleagues, and nothing more. He rolled his eyes at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking, but in the end smiled at her. "Get outta here, now," he pushed her lightly toward the door. Calleigh, seeing that her last objection had just been brought down, had no option but to accept Ryan's invitation. Truth be told, she wasn't really reluctant, just nervous. But so was he.

--  
--

After calling the lab to let everybody know that it was okay to go home, Horatio went somewhere he hadn't been to in a long time. All that he'd seen on the Valencias made him about how different families were, and more importantly, it made him think about his own family, and how much he missed his loved ones. That's why he decided to go visit Yelina and Ray Jr., spend some time with them before things at the lab got even more hectic.

He was, of course, welcomed with open arms. Ray Jr. was very excited about having his uncle over. They had already had dinner, but he was invited to stay for dessert. He mentioned all that was going on in the lab recently, hoping it could serve as a bit of an excuse for his not having visited in weeks. Ray somehow seemed to know many details of Mercedes Valencia's murder; apparently the media was being very thorough in their coverage of the case, though he wouldn't exactly call them reliable, as many of the things Ray mentioned were pure speculation.

Yelina told him she wanted to discuss some of her cases with him, get his point of view on some details that were puzzling her, and he immediately accepted. That took them quite some time, but they got a lot done. They discussed more trivial things as well, Ray's progress in school and such, how he was doing in the way of friends (the kid always seemed to go for the worst company, something that bothered Horatio and worried Yelina very much). They also talked about Horatio's personal life; Yelina didn't know a lot of what had happened when her and Ray were in Brazil. The topic of Marisol came up, but was quickly diverted; it wasn't time to think about sad moments.

They chatted for a good couple of hours. After a while, Yelina slipped out for a moment, to buy something for dessert. Some cake to go with their tea sounded perfectly heavenly, Horatio agreed with her, but he wasn't so keen on the idea of her going out by herself at that hour. She convinced him somehow, and so Ray and Horatio were left in the dining room, playing a card game while they waited.

About half an hour later, Ray was complaining about his uncle being good at everything (he had whooped Ray's behind in every game they had played. At this rate, they'd have to be playing until Tuesday for Ray to actually beat him overall). Horatio was laughing contentedly when his cell phone rang. He immediately went to answer, wondering who could be calling him at this hour. "Horatio Caine."

"Horatio," Yelina's accented voice replied from the other end of the line. She sounded rushed, maybe a bit worried. That immediately made Horatio alert. "Channel 35, quickly. I think you really need to see this."

No more words were exchanged as Horatio moved towards the living room, turning on the television under his nephew's curious stare. He flipped the channel to the network Yelina had pointed him to, and was met with the sight of a big mob of people crowding around a building. Something was attracting everyone's attention from the roof. Police, firefighters and even an ambulance were present at the scene, so it must be something serious. He wasn't completely sure of what was happening, however, until the cameras zoomed in on a very familiar sign on the building's façade. A flash was all it took him to have his phone back open and ready to dial. "Ray, you're going to have to stay by yourself for a while, okay? I have to go. Wait here for your mother." And with that, he was out the door.

--  
--

Natalia leaned back against the table as she finished putting the sample into the Mass Spec. She sighed. "Well, now we wait."

Eric, who was standing on the opposite side of the table, turning off the Centrifuge, nodded. "I wish this thing would hurry up, though. I really want to go home and get some sleep." It had taken them ages to get a usable sample of the substance off the fabric. Like Calleigh had expected, it was a very stubborn stain, one that didn't dissolve in many standardized solvents.

"It shouldn't take too long," Natalia assured him as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. She loved being in the lab, yes, but by now even the most science-driven person would be tired of looking at the same equipment. Double shifts were hell, at least in her opinion. It was terribly unlucky that this case forced them all to work one at the same time. Fortunately, when these results came through, they'd be able to put everything aside and finally get out of there, with their boss' blessing.

Eric moved to stand beside her and she noticed he was smirking slightly. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, just wondering how Calleigh and Ryan are doing on their date," he explained, thinking back to their two colleagues' situation. He wasn't usually the curious type, but he had to admit, if there was one conversation he'd pay a lot of money to listen in to, that was it. If only just to convince himself it was actually happening.

"They're on a date?" Natalia was surprised. She had heard about Ryan and Calleigh's argument, of course; the whole lab knew about that. She didn't think anything would come of it, though, or at least not this soon. "You mean in a 'it's been a long day, wanna have some dinner as friends' way or as in a _date_, date?"

"I guess that's what they're trying to figure out," he crossed his arms as he leaned back. The spectrum was just about a quarter done.

Natalia's eyes widened. "Wow. I didn't think he'd actually do something about it. Guess their fight was the straw that broke the camel's back."

As she finished speaking, Eric looked at her in a rather funny way, she thought. "You knew about this before it happened?"

"You didn't?" she shot back, rather in disbelief. She for one had thought Ryan's affections for Calleigh very easy to see, and while Calleigh was flirty by nature, Natalia thought the way she treated Ryan was slightly different to the way she treated everyone else. She'd seen it since the first time she'd met them; she remembered looking back at them as she walked away down that hallway her first day, and seeing them laughing and joking together. Calleigh didn't really seem that way with anyone else. And Ryan was always a bit awkward when it came to interpersonal relationships; she knew that first-hand, as she'd dated him briefly. However, none of that seemed to come up when he was with Calleigh. If that wasn't a strong enough basis for something to develop, she didn't know what was. There were a lot more smiles when they were together than when Calleigh interacted with anyone else. And she knew Ryan had always held a deep admiration for the ballistics expert, he'd told her so.

Eric's expression gave her enough of an answer. "No. Where did you get the idea from?" He was so dumbfounded, it was hilarious.

Natalia rolled her eyes. "Men. You're so clueless," she sentenced, arms at her hips, as she pursed her lips at Eric. If he didn't know, she wasn't going to tell him.

He looked affronted for his gender. "Hey, forgive me if I've been a little out of the loop, okay?"

Her expression didn't change. "Oh, this has been brewing since before I came to work on this lab. You just didn't pay enough attention."

"Well, we can't all be Dear Abbies," he replied with a snort. He actually came to the lab to work, not to catch up on the latest gossip. And it wasn't in his job description to be on the lookout for any sign of a more-than-friendly relationship between his colleagues. There were other things to think about. Besides, he and Calleigh had been together; what man would really expect their ex-girlfriend to move on to someone else so quickly? Perhaps it was his ego speaking, but he hadn't thought he needed to worry about that for some time.

Natalia mock-glared at him. "Fine, go through life that way." She turned to the computer, which was showing them the current progress of the MS. "Yes! Halfway through," she whispered, going back to lean against the table at her back. They remained in silence for a little while, the only sound in the room being Eric's finger drumming on the table. Then Natalia wondered aloud: "I hope he's not babbling about something scientific. He does that a lot."

"Cal can steer him back into the conversation, believe me," Eric assured her. While they were all CSIs and they all appreciated science very much, he had a feeling Calleigh wouldn't like to have dinner with the latest issue of Reader's Digest, but with Ryan Wolfe. "He did that with you?"

"Oh, yeah, all the time," Natalia nodded, amused. She and Ryan had only gone on a couple of dates before the whole 'mole' issue came about; it had certainly never been more than a casual thing, barely even enough to label it a relationship, but she'd gotten her fair share of Ryan Wolfe patented science rants. Never had she met someone who got so excited about science; funny, he didn't really give that impression when he was actually in the lab. It was cute the first couple of times, but it got old very quickly. "He's not a bad guy to date, but he does get going when one of those topics are introduced."

He laughed as well. "Thought that would be more your type," Eric shrugged. As far as he knew, Natalia was much more of a scientist than he, Calleigh or Horatio were. She'd been involved in genetics research and educational grants before being assigned to the lab.

She paused, holding her breath for a moment. Then she gazed at him, in a way that could have been significant... if only he had noticed. She quickly looked back to the computer screen. "No, not really," she finally said, trying her best to make sure her voice wouldn't give her away.

"Yeah, well, I guess that's why you two didn't work out," he nodded, also staring at the monitor. He chuckled. "That's another one that sprung up on me. Maybe it's just the idea of Wolfe dating that's weird to me. The kid's such a geek..."

She knew what he meant, he saw Ryan almost as a brother, a younger brother, that is. Eric being more senior in the business than he was, felt entitled to keep him as a newbie in his mind, though Ryan had proved his worth as a CSI more than once. They were friends now, good friends, but that mental image would never completely go away. She couldn't help but tease him about it, though. "Aw, don't be jealous, Eric. Ryan's not going to stop loving you just because he got a girl," she said, in a voice like she was speaking to a baby. It seemed like she was a second away from pinching his cheeks, and he didn't like being the butt of a joke in that way.

The glare he threw her way made her burst out laughing. "Jealous over Wolfe? That's the lamest joke ever." He did his best not to laugh, but the corners of his mouth turned up no matter how hard he tried to keep his frown.

She sobered up pretty quickly, though. She had just thought of something that hadn't really crossed her mind before, and now she wondered if she had been rubbing salt onto a wound for the whole of the conversation. "Hey, if it turns out they do end up together... you're not... you're okay with that, right?" She had to ask, partly because she didn't want to say something wrong and be insensitive, and partly because she just needed to know.

He nodded, dismissing the thought immediately. "Oh, yeah, of course. I mean, Calleigh and I are over, I'm fine if she's fine." Natalia smiled at him, hoping he couldn't see the relief in her eyes, but feeling it very intensely. She didn't know what she would've done if he'd said he still had feelings for their mutual friend. "Guess I'm just being protective. Calleigh hasn't had the smoothest love life. I just hope Wolfe doesn't do something to screw it up. She really doesn't need that."

"That's true," she had to admit she felt very close to Calleigh in that aspect; they'd both had horrible relationships. Natalia with her abusive husband that was then murdered, and Calleigh had a boyfriend who killed himself right in front of her, one that got engaged to someone else without even telling her, and one who was too immersed in undercover work to handle a relationship. And then Eric. Yes, Natalia could definitely relate. "Still, you gotta lay off of Ryan. He's like the nicest guy on Earth. He won't hurt her, at least not intentionally."

"I know," he nodded, crossing his arms. They remained quiet as the MS completed its task. Eric remained pensive, sometimes staring at her from the corner of his eye for a few seconds. Natalia, for her part, willed herself to keep quiet on purpose. If she didn't bite her lips and hold it in, she might end up asking a completely wrong question at a completely wrong time, and she wasn't ready for that.

Finally the spectra finished running and Natalia compared it to their database of chemicals. When it found the corresponding matches, she printed it out and showed it to Eric. He frowned, reading just what the mystery stain on Mercedes Valencia's t-shirt was. "Mainly non-dissociated ammonium hydroxide, hydrogen peroxide and a red pigment, with traces of carboxamide, two types of glycols and compounds of the oleyl family, including ethers, acids and alcohols..." He looked up from the page and to Natalia, who was absorbing the components of the mixture as well. "Alkalizing and oxidizing agents, as well as buffers and stabilizers. Is that some kind of dye? Vat maybe?"

"No," she finally said, in a rather surprised tone. She knew what it meant, and that was just the break they were looking for. "It's red hair dye."

Eric's eyes widened slightly as he came to the same conclusion she did. "Well, I know someone who probably dealt with hair coloring products today." Just as he was fishing his cell phone out of his pocket to call Horatio, though, it started ringing. They quickly learned something big was happening and they had to go.

--  
--

They sat down at a table in the back of the restaurant. It was one of the very few tables that were unoccupied, as apparently nobody that was still in there eating was in any rush to get home. A waiter quickly took their order and went on his way.

Ryan stared at her as the silence threatened to smother him. She seemed calm, comfortable even. Not threatening in any way, not angry, not nervous: just normal. It was like their blow-up today at the reception hall had never happened. He did know she wasn't one to hold grudges but they'd both said and done awful things today; he couldn't believe she'd let go of it already. How could she be so calm when he was feeling all kinds of awkward?

He was the one who had asked her to have dinner with him, so he might as well break the ice. "You know... when I first saw you-- at the seminar, you know-- I remember clearly that two things went through my mind."

She cocked an eyebrow at him but otherwise did not react. Though she did think that such a phrase would make an excellent introduction to a dirty joke. She hoped that wasn't where he was going. Fortunately he wasn't, as he continued: "The first thing was... 'Well, this is it. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I want to be a CSI.'"

She couldn't help but smile; it wasn't everyday that someone sort-of told her she was their inspiration. Then again, he always seemed to charm smiles out of her even if she was trying to be severe. He brought out extremes in her, and she could think of so many moments when he'd made her become so cold, and so many when he made her feel so warm. She didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing, but it was certainly unique to him. "What was the other one?"

He had been looking away from her as he spoke previously, like he wasn't sure if he should say these things. Now, however, he looked up at her from across the table and green met green for the second time in as many hours. "The second was 'My God, am I glad I decided to move to Miami,'" he said, with such amazement in his tone, that it was like he was thinking it again at that very moment.

She laughed, and it made the weight in his stomach feel a little lighter. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she told him, but the way she said it was light and pleasant, and he knew it meant that things between them would be fine soon enough.

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I beg to differ. And I'm saying nothing but the truth, anyway." He sobered up pretty quickly, though, feeling he had to make the conversation move forward. "Cal, we've been hurting each other over the stupidest thing."

She shook her head, a little sadly, perhaps. "I still think I did the right thing, Ryan."

"I know you do. And I understand," he hurried to say, before the argument could come back full-force. He ran a hand through his hair, nervously. "I mean, it could've been worse. You did warn me first, before going to Horatio. And who knows, at some other point in my life it might've happened... Just... not now. Calleigh," he sat on the edge of his chair, hands on the table so close to hers that she wondered if he'd moved to try and hold them, but restrained himself. "Look, there's nothing between me and Pamela. My feelings for her extend just so far as thinking she's a nice girl. I swear that's the truth."

One of her hands moved just a little bit closer to his. The tips of their fingers were not quite touching, yet not quite separate. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"Yes, I do," he said earnestly, the sincerity flowing from his words in waves. "I do, because I could never... By now you know about my feelings, anyway." He chuckled humorlessly and rolled his eyes. "Mostly because I went and blurted everything out in front of the whole lab."

She had to press her lips together not to giggle aloud at Ryan's cynical tone. "That you did." Her voice trembled a bit from the laughter. This was a serious matter, but he looked terribly cute with that pout. Like a little-leaguer who just swung the bat and got struck out with a throw that was clearly outside of the strike zone.

She waited for him to join in the laughter, but he didn't. He simply leaned forward slightly, weight on his forearms on the table, and stared at her like you would a beautiful painting: partly confused, partly curious, but in complete awe. "Just tell me one thing: Were you really... jealous? Or was that just me thinking too much?" His voice came out very soft, as if he were sharing a secret.

She took her hand away and straightened her position. Perhaps it was involuntary, but he sure noticed. He didn't say anything about it, though, just continued looking at her, expectant, from his slight downward angle. "I... don't know," she replied, uncertainly. "I just reacted, I guess. I couldn't tell you why," her accent was heavy in that last sentence and he thought it made her sound a bit solemn.

He looked down at his hands as he nodded. "You wanna know what I think?" He scratched one of his hands with a finger, like he didn't give a care to what he was saying. He was stalling, and he was doing it on purpose. The corners of his lips moved down, like he was just informing her of something that was common knowledge. He didn't want to be the only one on the spot here. "I think you were jealous... because you have feelings for me."

The emphasis on the word 'feelings' did not go unnoticed by Calleigh. Her eyebrows rose almost up to her hairline as she crossed her arms and stared him down. "Oh, I do, now?" He finally stopped goofing off and met her gaze again. "Well, isn't someone a little full of himself today?"

He shrugged, with a half-smile. "Hey, we're CSIs. How is it that it goes? When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable..." He left it hanging, but the phrase wasn't brought up only because it was famous; it was the motto they lived by. "The evidence will speak for itself, and right now it's pointing in that direction very strongly, CSI Duquesne."

She nodded. "Yeah, I know why you'd think that. And I don't want to get your hopes up, because the truth is, I've never really thought about... us in that way. It could be romantic, or... maybe it's not. We do spend a lot of time working together, and at times that can make things become... confusing. It's not a rare occurrence. I really just don't know."

She seemed sad, almost like she was letting him down easy, but didn't want to let him down at all. He took it all in stride, though. A nod and a deep breath and he was back to looking into her eyes like she hadn't just said what she had. "Okay. Maybe something's going on between us. You don't know." He kept nodding like he was trying to work out the problem in his head, and then looking into the depths of her aquamarine eyes like they could tell him the answer. Then he stopped, and smiled. "Then I guess... you won't know until you try it, right?"

He threw her an adorably hopeful expression her way, and she laughed. A girl had to admire his persistence. "Yes, that sounds about right." Her arms disentangled from her body as she leaned down on the table, imitating his posture with her usual flirty smile, full of mirth.

"So... Would you like to? Try?" he all but whispered; they were that close. His lips twisted into a boyish smile. Anyone looking in on them would think they were two lovers on a romantic date, whispering sweet nothings to each other as they waited for their food.

She couldn't help but play with him a little; she was a Southern Belle through and through, after all, albeit one with a personal gun collection. She mock-frowned, as if giving his question a lot of thought. "Hmmm... I don't know, Ryan. I've heard a thing or two about office relationships; they just never seem to work for some reason. Maybe we shouldn't..." She couldn't keep up the coy act for long, though, and burst out laughing barely a second after finishing that phrase.

He let out a "Pffft!" as he leaned back in his chair and pointed at her in an accusing manner. "_You_ went out with Delko."

She was still catching her breath as she replied. "So you keep reminding me."

He chuckled as he crossed his arms. "That's the one thing I'll never let you forget." His eyes shined with warmth as he gazed at her, and she smiled back at him. Who would've thought that such a messed up day would end up with them being so content?

"So, does this count as a first date? Oh, thank you," her question was almost cut short as the waiter arrived with their food. They were silent for a few minutes as they started on their meal, but the conversation soon returned to where it had been before. "Does it?"

"It could, if you want," he replied as he took in a bite of his steak. He'd been too busy trying to get their conversation just right, that he hadn't noticed he was famished. Not that he would've been able to eat at any other point of their conversation anyway, because his stomach had been doing somersaults the whole time.

"Then I guess that's what it is," she nodded at him, as she took her fork to her mouth, filled with some of the pasta that accompanied her Cajun chicken. Then she thought of something and started to smile again. "I guess the little freshman finally worked up the nerve, didn't he?"

"Out of everything I said, you just had to remember that one, did you?" he mock-groaned. He hadn't even thought of what he was saying at that moment and now he guessed he should feel a little embarrassed about being so heartfelt.

"It was very eloquent," she said with a chuckle.

"Yeah, well..." he shrugged, corners of his mouth upturned. "Freshman's not such a loser now, I guess."

"I've never thought of you as a loser," she told him sincerely, for which he thanked her. Then she started laughing. At his confused expression, she added: "And I was so far from being a cheerleader in high school, it's not even funny."

"Oh, really?" he was intrigued. He knew a lot about her life, but only in the recent years. He was really interested in knowing what she was like when she was younger. "So how would high school Calleigh be labeled?"

They talked about everything and nothing for the rest of the night. The topic of family came up after Calleigh mentioned her brothers at some point ("Oh, so you're a Momma's boy, are you?" "Look who's talking, Lambchop."). So did the case; a few hypotheses were thrown here and there, especially as they discussed maybe having some coffee after dinner even if they both had to work early tomorrow ("I'm all for Night Shift holding the fort tomorrow, since we've been doing their job today!"). The matter of personal tastes came up after they had finished eating, as they got into Ryan's car and turned on the radio, and Celtic-accented punk music blasted through the speakers ("I'm from Boston, can you blame me?"). That in particular brought a cultural discussion up; Ryan mentioned that he could understand Spanish really well but didn't really dare speak it, while Calleigh declared Florida had made her fluent in Spanish just as Louisiana had made her fluent in French.

His slight case of OCD came up as they arrived at his rather modest apartment, and Calleigh thanked him for offering his place for their coffee. He told her it was nothing, he wouldn't have been able to sleep after such a day anyway; he probably would have been up the whole night, maybe cleaning his (already immaculate) kitchen. Teasing ensued, of course, though she did try to make amends by bringing up some of her own embarrassing traits (he almost rolled off the sofa as she mentioned her unusual fondness for anything _Grease_-related-- "Hey, I'm a child of the seventies. Olivia Newton-John was the idol of every little girl out there! I cannot be blamed for that"). And speaking of teasing, the "Miami Vice" jacket topic also came up, this time as they sat in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to be done (Ryan complained that nobody could be perfect like her and that she should stop denying her attachment to the jackets because he knew she loved them; her only reply was that she thought he looked his best wearing shirts and sweater-vests and that he should do that more often). That brought Eric up again, with his "Ricky Martin" shirts, but still the topic of past relationships was carefully avoided, both of them opting to just toe the line at Delko but leave everyone else outside.

The coffee was finally done and Calleigh started to serve, adding a little cream and cinnamon as a personal touch. They were in silence for the first time in a long time, both thinking of how fast time had gone by, and how much they'd spoken about. She contemplated this as she handed him a steaming cup. He accepted gracefully and took a sip, savoring it for a moment and then moving to stand beside her, by the counter. "I can't believe you managed to make such good coffee with what little I had in the cupboard. I can never do that. You're a miracle-worker."

"It's the least I can do after such a wonderful night," she said with a smile, discretely noticing how close he actually was to her. She didn't even have to speak that loud for him to hear her. "See, I told you that you couldn't be such an inept conversationalist."

He laughed, remembering that particular conversation. "Oh, no, believe me, that's all you. Somehow you're just easier to talk to."

She took a sip of her coffee, slowly, like he had. It really was very good. Then she nodded. "I know what you mean." Her expression was pensive for a moment, like it was when she was trying to put together two pieces of evidence. When her eyes met his, they were sparkling. "Sometimes it's like if you ask me about them, the big things aren't as important anymore. I can just mention them casually, like they're not a big deal at all."

"Must be hard for someone as independent as you," he said, with a bit of a sheepish smile. He knew she didn't really like people prying into her business, and he knew he did sometimes, but he couldn't really help himself.

"It's actually rather refreshing," she said, moving a little closer to him. They were close enough now that she could see every detail about his eyes, from the flecks of honey color that adorned his irises, to the slightly darker patch of skin where he'd been pierced by a nail. "To know that someone is thinking about me even if I'm not immediately in danger, that I'm still in their mind after the smoke cleared. It's a sign that they really care."

"I do care," he whispered, unconsciously leaning in toward her. This was something he couldn't stop; she was like gravity, her gaze was pulling him in. He could sooner stop his heart from beating than he could stop from kissing her.

"I know you do," her eyes were half-lidded as she moved in to close the rest of the distance. This was going to happen; after all they'd been through, it was going to happen...

Then Ryan's cell phone started ringing.

They stepped apart like they'd been shocked by electricity. Ryan scrambled to find his phone in his pocket and when he finally had it in hand, he seemed at a loss for a second as to how to go about answering it. Then he snapped back to attention, and quickly pushed the right button, putting the phone to his ear. "Wolfe."

He listened for a little while, nodding here and there, with a very serious frown in place. Calleigh watched him with a similar expression. It was usually something really huge if they were called in to work at 1 AM. "No! Don't bother. I'll let her know. We'll be there ASAP." He quickly put the phone down and back in his pocket. "That Marla woman's trying to jump off of a building. We gotta go."

"Right," half a second was all it took her to react, and they quickly walked out of the kitchen, mugs of cinnamon-coffee and everything that had almost happened pushed to the side as they became all about work, once again.

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**Author's notes--**

Death to the past participle of "flow"!! BX

Oh. My. God. This is 18 pages worth of a chapter. Someone pinch me, please.

Okay, so I don't understand what the concept of a "shift" is. Gimme a break, it's not my fault it seems like all the murders in Miami happen at 6 AM! So I took a bit of poetic license on that and figured I'd at least mention they were pulling a double shift. Feel free to whack me in the head if it was a wrong assumption.

This chapter was heavily influenced by the CSI Miami Book _Riptide_, by Donn Cortez. You can find small details from the book here and there, like Calleigh "not needing a gun to make someone hurt," and their discussing their conversational skills. Also, all this about Ryan being a bit of a geek. I was reading the book as I wrote most of this chapter, so I couldn't help it seeping in. And I thought it was good to pay homage to season three... where Ryan was a cute newbie who idolized Horatio and had a crush on Cal. While I still love Ryan, who he is now is so different. I miss my adorable season 3 Ryan so much. So here I gave you little flashes of him.

Yes, all that about Ryan having nice arms and him looking better in sweater-vests, yeah, that's all me xD It's true, though! Jon Togo is yummy. And I love dressed-up nerds :3

The phrase Ryan uses up there is: "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." It's a very famous phrase by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, used in his Sherlock Holmes novels. I figure CSIs might particularly like it.

The _Grease_ tidbit was a shout out to my shipmates, who were talking about the movie a couple of days ago in the RyanCalleigh forum at TalkCSI. I know it sounds terribly OOC for Calleigh, but I couldn't help myself! ;)

The chapter title comes from the song "Home" by Daughtry, which was playing over and over in my iPod as I wrote this chapter. I thought it fit, since it's the end of a very overwhelming day for the Miami-Dade CSI team. Also in this chapter's soundtrack, the song "Hush" by Angie Aparo, of course, and also "The Dolphin's Cry" by Live and "Eres para mi" by Julieta Venegas.

Thanks for your reviews, you guys, you're too good to me. I got about 6 for last chapter, and I hope the same or better happens for this chapter, taking into account that a) i'm giving you shippers what you were waiting for and b) you have to make sure I don't wander off into OOC-land from here on out. Please review!

_In the next chapter!_: Marla jumps! ...Or not. Shots are fired! ...Or not. The case is closed! ...Or not. Sorry guys, I can't be very specific at the moment, or I might spoil you too much :) You guys just wait and see, mmkay?


	6. Chapter 6: Dysrhythmia

**IN TOO DEEP**

**Chapter 6: Dysrhythmia**

**Disclaimer: **'CSI: Crime Scene Investigation' and 'CSI: Miami,' characters and all related terms and concepts are trademarked property of CBS Productions and Alliance Atlantis Communications. No copyright infringement is intended or contained within this story. I am in no way affiliated or recognized by CBS, just a fan writing for fun.

**Note:** Hello! Thanks for giving this fic a try. Please don't forget to read the author's notes at the bottom; they may contain useful information to the readers. -Carla.

**Note 2:** Warning: the usual "Science Content" one. -Carla, again. 

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The chief of the Night Shift Rescue crew was an acquaintance of Horatio's, and knew he was an extremely efficient, patient and overall convincing person, who wouldn't be in the way. There was also the fact, of course, that he knew better than anyone the reasons Marla might have to jump off a building, since he was in charge of the Valencia case. For these reasons Horatio-- and Natalia and Eric, who got to the scene at the same time Horatio did-- were allowed to go up to the roof of the building and help the Rescue team avoid another tragedy. 

When they got to the scene, Horatio first noticed that things seemed more or less under control. Marla was still standing on the edge, yes, but she was turned around towards the Rescue crew, and she appeared to be rather calm. They seemed to be getting through to her, so they moved slowly. It was imperative in situations like these not to make any sudden moves. However, that calm went to hell in a second, because as soon as she saw Eric, she started wailing like a banshee.

Horatio cursed to himself. They definitely weren't counting on that.

"No! They're on to me! My God, the police is here! They know, they know what I did...!"

"Ma'am! Ma'am, please, don't do anything rash..." The Rescue people kept trying to move closer to her and pull her away from the edge, but now, as she started to hug herself tightly and bend her knees like she was in pain, they were afraid she would jump or lose her balance and fall to her death. They surrounded her in an almost perfect circular formation, ready to move in little by little.

Eric looked to Horatio, not knowing what to do. Should he go back down? Was he making things worse? He looked to Natalia as well, who just responded with a wide-eyed expression and a shrug, before taking a step back. However, one of Horatio's hand rose to signal him to stop, and he stayed put.

The lieutenant then very slowly moved towards the nearest member of the Rescue team, who was barely ten feet away from where Marla was standing, and silently requested for permission to move in. The man looked at his own boss, who nodded at Horatio. None of this was lost on the terrified woman who was one step away from a long fall to the ground.

"No! Please, don't take me! I didn't mean to do it! I didn't, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! It was an accident; I didn't mean to do it!" Her cries got louder and louder as she saw Horatio come closer.

"Marla..." Horatio tried, arms raised in an effort to show her he didn't mean any harm. The woman was hysterical, and they didn't need to agitate her any further; it might prove deadly. "Marla, my name is Horatio Caine. And I want you to know that regardless of any other motive we might have to be here, right now we just want you to come down from there."

The woman bent over even further, not quite crouching but enough to make the Rescue crew jump at the possibility that she might keel over and fall. "No! Don't come closer! I'll... I'll jump!"

"Marla, I need you to step away from the edge and come down here, where it's safe," he kept trying in his most convincing tone, moving an inch at the time. The Rescue team imitated him, moving in on their target so slowly, it was almost imperceptible. Just a couple more feet and they might be close enough to grab her and move her away from certain death.

Natalia and Eric had also moved closer to the center of the circle bordered by the Rescue team. "No! I killed her!"

Their breath caught in their throat, it was the case for all the CSIs. Only Horatio did not show any outward reaction, but Natalia couldn't keep it in. Marla was seriously considering this; it was no joke, she would jump if they didn't do something, she realized. "Don't worry about that, Marla. If you come down now, we won't do anything to you--"

Horatio lifted a hand toward her, and she promptly stopped talking. She cringed; she shouldn't have said anything. She didn't want to make things worse.

Her boss nodded at her in that not-quite-directed-at-you way he had of doing it, assuring her that she had done nothing wrong. He knew her intentions were good; however, in the state she was in, he would rather not drag Marla away from this under false pretenses. She had just confessed to murder; whatever happened after this, she would be detained and tried. It was up to them now to convince her that turning herself in was better than killing herself.

"You don't understand! I killed her, but I didn't mean to! Oh God, she was one of my best friends! I never wanted to hurt her...!" Marla continued to cry, fists clenched so tight on her sweater that they were going white. Her eyes were fixed on Natalia, but it seemed she was staring at something beyond her that wasn't quite there. She was breathing heavily due to her tears, as well. She was so agitated, it was only a question of time until one of her feet slipped and she fell thirty-four stories down onto cold concrete. They had to act now. "I killed her, oh, I deserve to die! How could I do something so horrible to my friend! She was only seventeen, she was seventeen..." Her babbling was almost unintelligible by now. "Don't come any closer! I deserve to die... I'll jump, I can't stand this!"

Horatio's steps halted, but he almost had her at arms' reach now. "Marla... If this was an accident, like you said, I'm sure Mercedes wouldn't want you to do this. You were her friend. She wouldn't have liked to see you like this, don't you think?"

"She was... She was really good, wasn't she?" she almost whispered. Horatio nodded encouragingly at her. "Merce was so good..." Her tears subsided a little, and she started taking deep breaths, like she was calming down. The Rescue people relaxed a bit, seeing that progress had been made. Nobody took a step back, though, and it was a good thing, because not much later the calm came to an end. "She was so good... Oh my God, and I killed her! She came to me for help and I killed her! I'm a horrible person, I'm horrible!"

She turned around suddenly, and everybody jumped to rush in. She had turned towards what would be a vast fall, feet barely holding her from a sheer drop, her slipper-wrapped toes hanging over the edge. A collective scream could be heard from the crowd below; that many people must have been witnessing this, so as to be heard from thirty-four floors down. Behind them, a couple of Rescue people frantically detailed the situation onto their walkie-talkies, and received instructions back.

She turned her head back at them after she heard the scream, eyes wide. Everybody stopped in their tracks, seeing that she hadn't jumped. Her cry was directed at Horatio, this time. "There's so many people down there... why are there so many people here?!"

"They're here to see if you jump," Horatio told her in all honesty. Sincerity fostered trust, he knew that from experience; and right now, he needed this woman to trust him with her life, with her future. "They're curious. We humans are like that." He ventured one more step. "There are also TV cameras down there, Marla. It's not only these people. If you jump, all of Miami will see this scene over and over in the news." He didn't really feel confident using this as a distraction, but it was the only option she'd given him. She was obviously distraught by having an audience. "Think how many little kids will watch you die. You don't want them to see such a horrible thing, do you? It'll hurt them. They're little kids, they're very impressionable. Even younger than Mercedes..."

That seemed to make her react. "No... No, I don't want them to see..." She moved back an inch, so that her feet weren't half-dangling off the edge of the building anymore. She didn't turn around, but this encouraged Horatio to move closer.

"Of course you don't... They won't have to see if you don't jump, Marla. Why don't you come down here instead? I'm a CSI, and I promise you, if Mercedes' death was an accident, we will find evidence and it will point us to the truth."

"I'll go to jail, won't I?" she whispered, but did not move otherwise. A breeze blew by them, blowing back Marla's bright blue hair.

"I don't know," he told her frankly, finally moving in and seizing her arm. As she listlessly turned to look at his hand on her, then at his face, he added: "But at least you'll be alive."

She stepped down from the edge, letting Horatio drag her away from her fall.

--  
--

"So she did it?" Calleigh asked as her and Ryan joined the rest now in the ground floor. Rescue had done their thing, then Marla was passed on to the EMTs for a routine check and sedatives, and now she was ready to be transported to PD, if the police car could get out without running over someone, that is. The crowd still hadn't dissipated.

Eric nodded at her. "Yeah. The red stain we found on the shirt, it was red hair dye. Marla deals with it, being a hairstylist, and what's more, she had traces of it on a couple of her fingers; she wasn't wearing gloves to work today, apparently, and it proves she went home with the girl, and that she shook her." He shook his head. "She confessed, anyway, so it's pretty much a done deal, now."

"The level of the charges hasn't been defined, though," Ryan intervened, noticing that Horatio was coming out of the building, followed closely by Natalia, who was leading a now handcuffed Marla out. "She felt so guilty, she tried to kill herself. We can't rule out manslaughter."

"You're right," Eric agreed. "She kept saying it was an accident. Maybe the court will term it involuntary manslaughter. But how do we..."

He was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot.

Everything seemed to happen like in slow motion. Everyone crouched down at the sound, there were screams. Natalia and Marla fell. They'd been struck.

The patrol officers stationed there reacted immediately. Horatio and Calleigh had their guns at the ready within the second, pointed towards the source of the sound, which seemed to be somewhere in the crowd. "Nobody move!" But it was too late; nobody had been looking at the spot, and whoever had shot didn't appear to be there anymore. There was no way to chase whoever it was, either. Dealing with the crowd would be hard enough without trying to mobilize a search among them. A party would have to be sent out to the surroundings; he or she couldn't have gotten very far.

As the policemen were given their orders, all pistols still at attention, they spread out over the area. Ryan and Eric moved in towards Natalia and Marla, guns still held low on their sides, though it seemed there wouldn't be a second shot. "Are you okay?" Eric asked Natalia, worriedly. She was cradling her shoulder and her sleeve was stained with blood.

"I... I'm not sure," her voice was shaky. She looked at her shoulder and cringed; a few tears escaped from the corner of her eyes. "I-I think so. It grazed me, it-it just really stings."

He took a look at her shoulder and felt a wave of relief when he saw that the wound was not too deep. "You'll be fine," he said, a hand on the junction of her neck and shoulder holding her face steady so he could look at her directly in the eyes. She nodded quickly, but he could see it didn't ease her fear. She was very shaken. He couldn't blame her, though; it wasn't everyday that one had a close encounter with death in the shape of a bullet. "You need to get that looked at."

He turned to let Ryan know that he should give some space to the paramedics to do their thing, but he had already called them in. They rushed around Marla and it was only then that Eric realized how grave her situation was. "She was hit directly," Natalia told him, voice still a half-octave too high, betraying her racing heartbeat. He could barely see between the medical emergency personnel, but he could glimpse at Marla's body lying face down on the sidewalk, a bullet wound on her back that was bleeding profusely. She wasn't conscious but she was alive, or so he thought he heard the EMTs say.

As the others joined them, worried about their co-worker's condition, Marla was carefully hoisted onto a stretcher and taken into an ambulance, to get her to the ER. Her condition was critical, as from the position of the wound and the copious hemorrhage, the bullet could very well be lodged in one of her lungs. She needed to go into emergency surgery, and it was very possible she might not survive it.

After assuring everybody she was okay, Natalia was also asked to come to the hospital to get her wound looked at. She was a little reluctant to go, but was too in shock to protest too much. Horatio assured her that he would let her family know what had happened, and told her to do everything the doctors asked of her to make sure she got better. With one last, unsure nod, she let go of Eric's forearm (which she only then realized she'd been clinging to, the whole time) and consented to go with the paramedics.

As the ambulance left, Horatio rounded up the rest of his team. "Well, there's nothing we can do now but go home. The shooting is up for Night Shift, I'm afraid. We're all off the clock already."

The three nodded, understanding. They'd deal with it in the morning. Calleigh and Ryan promptly said their goodbyes, and turned to leave. If anyone noticed they had arrived in the same car, nobody said anything about it. The excitement of the last hour proved to be able to squash any good-natured teasing that might have reared its head in a different situation.

Eric stood there for a bit longer, though, and Horatio noticed something was bothering him. "Go home and get some rest, Eric. It's been a rough day for everyone," he advised the younger man, who was his brother more than his subordinate.

"You know, actually, I think I'll go and give Natalia some company," Eric stated, still looking thoughtful. "They won't take too long with her, but she'll need someone to drive her home."

Horatio nodded. "That's good, she'll need it. Dade Memorial." Eric nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket. "And Eric? Get some rest, really. We start bright and early tomorrow. Or today, as it is."

"I will," Eric assured him, and quickly left the scene.

--  
--

As Horatio stepped inside his place, his cell phone rang. "Horatio Caine," he answered it, in a downtrodden tone of voice. He was incredibly tired. Rescue work will do that to you; he knew it from when he worked in the Bomb Squad. And the person you just rescued being shot and thrown back into the line between life and death only made it worse.

"Are you alright?" came the accented voice on the other side of the line.

"Yelina," he realized, rather surprised. He wasn't expecting her call, much less at this time.

"Ray and I saw everything on TV. You're not hurt? We were worried."

"No... No, I'm okay. Miss Boa Vista suffered a superficial wound, but she'll be okay."

"Oh, thank God." Horatio could hear Ray Jr.'s voice from her end, asking if he was fine. It made him smile. "Is it over, then? Are you home?"

"Yes, I just got here," he explained as he closed his door behind him. He took off his jacket with a bit of difficulty because he was holding the phone up to his ear, then dropped the garment onto a chair and sat down in another.

"I'm glad. It must've been quite a day," she told him. Then Ray yelled something behind her and Horatio heard her scold him. "Raymond!" Horatio did hear what Ray had said, and it made him laugh. That brought her attention back to him. "Sorry about that. He's had a crush on that Marla woman since she got her own reality show. Thinks she's 'cool' because her hair is blue. And he shouldn't, because she's a murderer, as everybody knows now."

Horatio was still laughing. "Yes, that's true. Tell him that no, I didn't 'catch the bastard,' but we definitely will tomorrow." This was just what he needed, to feel lighter after such a loaded day. He was expecting to go to bed with a heavy heart, and be unable to sleep because of his mixed emotions; it wouldn't be the first time it happened. No, for Horatio Caine insomnia was nothing rare. But not tonight, it wouldn't visit him.

"I will. And we'll see you soon, right? Don't disappear."

"I won't. We're definitely taking a rain check on that dessert."

"Good. Until then."

A click was heard as the line was closed, and Horatio snapped his cell phone closed. That night he went to bed feeling much, much better than he had in days.

--  
--

He even walked her to her door. She could have groaned aloud. He was being so nice; he didn't have to be so nice, she was fine. "You don't have to be so nice, Eric. The doctor said I didn't need any special care," she told him, as she dug her keys out of her purse.

She hadn't been in the hospital too long. She'd needed a couple of stitches to close the gash left by the bullet, but after that and with some bandages she was pretty much ready to go. She was advised not to do anything strenuous with that arm in case she might pull open the stitches, but it didn't leave her out of field work for even a minute. She couldn't even use it as an excuse to get one day's leave pay.

"I know. It's just-- you looked so afraid back there. I just want to help," he told her sincerely, with a smile. She'd been very quiet the whole way here and he didn't like seeing her that way. She was usually very talkative. Of course, he didn't expect her to be a bundle of happiness after having been shot, but a smile or two wouldn't hurt. She wasn't in any danger anyway, not unless she decided to go play in a mud hole or something and get her wound infected.

She stiffened at his words. The reaction was almost unnoticeable; Eric only saw it because she was stretching her hand to put her key in the lock, and her fingers tensed around it. As a CSI, he was trained to see these things. She kept going as normal not half a second later, though. "And I appreciate it, Eric. I really do, but I'm just-- I'm feeling a bit crowded, okay? I kinda want to be alone right now. Thanks. I'll see you in the morning."

She turned her key and opened the door, ready to step inside, but Eric put a hand between the door and the frame before she could close it. "What is it?"

"What's what?" She continued to feign like there was nothing wrong, but he wasn't buying it.

"Hey. Whatever you're thinking? I've been there. You can talk to me."

She saw the sincerity in his eyes and it broke her down. She frowned, eyes watering and looking everywhere but at him. "It's not that, not really. It's just--" She took a deep breath. It took her a while to continue speaking, like she was gathering her bearings or steeling herself to ask the question. "Is it... is it just me?"

He didn't understand what she meant. "Just you, what?"

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "I just wonder if I'm the only one this job gets to."

"That's what's bothering you?" he asked her. He couldn't help his disbelieving tone, but he saw that it affected her. Before she could move to close the door on his face or something, he grabbed her arm. "'Talia, that's crazy. Of course the job gets to us. We're not made of stone."

"But how do you do it?" she replied, sounding a little desperate. "I mean, Calleigh was thrown off the road. Ryan took a nail to his eye. Eric, you almost died! And yet you're here, working, like one more shootout doesn't mean anything. I was grazed by a bullet and here I am, wondering if this is even worth it."

"You wanna quit the lab?" Eric asked immediately. He had no idea that she'd been feeling this way.

"No! No, working in the lab is... it's amazing," she assured him, emphasizing the last word so that there was no doubt. She pursed her lips, then put her hands to her face. "But I gotta admit, ever since I started working there, I've been held at gunpoint more times than I care to remember. I think about that and I-- I freak out. It makes me think that... maybe I'm just not cut out for this."

Her tone was so defeated, it made him feel bad as well. His hands rose to hold her by the shoulders. "Hey, hey. Of course you are, you're good at this, okay? The Natalia I know doesn't take crap from anyone... don't start taking it from yourself, now."

She had to chuckle at his choice of words, and it made him smile. "It's normal to be scared; you've every right to freak out."

She sighed in frustration. "Yes, I know. I know what you're gonna say, that none of us want to die, and these life-or-death situations are bound to affect us. I know. See, it's more that I'm mad at myself for not handling that fear as well as you guys do. You saw it today-- Marla was about to jump, and it wasn't even me, but I was just about to rush in and pull her back by force! And Horatio, Gosh, he was so calm... it was incredible."

Eric let out a hearty laugh. "Yeah, well, H is on a whole 'nother level."

She smiled. "I know," she said, rolling her eyes.

He stared straight into her eyes, so she could also see the feeling behind his words. "Listen, you're not alone in this. We all feel it. The trick is just... to keep in mind that we go through these things so that someone else doesn't have to."

She was captured by his eyes for what seemed like an eternity. She'd heard his words, but it was his eyes more than anything else that made her forget her worries. One shared gaze and it seemed like everything she had been thinking about was silly. She nodded.

It also seemed like he didn't want to look away. "You have no idea how I felt today when I saw you fall down like that. I can't really remember, but it must've been pretty close to... you know, when Marisol..."

"Oh, no, don't say that," she hurried to cut him off. What happened to Marisol had changed Eric's life completely; he was so close to her and loved her so much. It would be unfair to downplay those feelings. "Marisol was your sister, it's-- it's completely different. I understand..."

"Okay, maybe," he conceded. It was unfair to bring his sister's death into the conversation if he couldn't remember so much of it. "But you're my friend, 'Talia. I care about you." On an impulse he threw his arms around her, pulling her close. "I was really scared, don't doubt that."

She was glad for it, for more reasons than just the comfort. As she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her chin on his shoulder, she was thankful that he couldn't see her expression betraying how broken she felt when he said she was his friend. She tightened her hold for a second, and then slowly let go. "I don't. Thank you." She gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm going to turn in. I'll see you later, okay?"

He nodded, muttered a goodbye, and turned towards the stairs. He looked back at her once and she waved at him from her door. When he was out of sight, she leaned against the doorframe, staring in the direction he'd taken. "Of course, he had to go and be... wonderful," she muttered to herself, sounding resigned. After a pause and a sigh she shook her head, and finally went inside, locking the door behind her.

--  
--

It was raining when he woke up, pouring like it could only pour in a place that was supposed to be a tropical paradise. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't always sunny in Miami, and this day was shaping up to be a grey one.

Now, Horatio wasn't a particularly superstitious man, but if the rain wasn't a sign of things to come, the phone call he received at exactly 6 AM that morning sure was.

He was required at Dade Memorial. Marla's surgery was over now. She was alive and awake, but still critical. The doctors said they'd done all they could, and the only thing to do then was wait; her survival depended only on her own will to survive. As soon as she woke, she requested to speak with Horatio. He couldn't refuse, of course.

She wanted to let him know exactly what had happened with Mercedes Valencia. She told him the whole story weakly, wheezing the details, but he listened attentively.

They had arrived at the Valencias' mansion after coming from the bar. Mercedes had only had one drink, while Marla herself had three, because she wasn't driving, one being the Orgasm on the rocks that was spilled all over Mercedes' car. They'd spent most of their time at the bar talking; Mercedes was terribly distraught because of her mother leaving town with her boyfriend, and Tommy not wanting to give in to Mrs. Valencia. She couldn't believe the two most important people in her life were so stubborn to one another. She didn't want to become alienated from her mother, but she didn't like how she was using Mercedes' relationship with an older man to justify her own relationship with a younger man in the eyes of the media. She didn't know what to do-- she didn't want to lose face in front of the press either, but the situation away from the cameras was becoming too tense to handle.

The conversation continued along those lines as Mercedes changed her clothes. What Horatio hadn't been aware of, though, was that Marla shared Mercedes' mother opinion that Tommy was not good enough for her. Not necessarily because of the age difference, but because of his past. She believed a person like that couldn't change, and Mercedes shouldn't get involved with his past to try and change him. Mercedes knew Marla thought this way, and Marla stated that she had already told Mercedes all she had to say about the topic, so she wouldn't bring it up again. She would merely lend a willing ear for Mercedes to let out her frustrations, without saying anything.

However, that day, and with the alcohol flowing through her, she couldn't help but speak up about it. They got into a bit of an argument, which escalated into yelling, and at one point Marla grabbed Mercedes by the shoulders and shook her, trying to make her see her point that Tommy was not good for her at all. However, as she was tipsy, she didn't control her force as well as she should have, and Mercedes went flying backwards, hitting her head against the shelf.

Marla called her, tried to wake her up. However, when she saw Mercedes wasn't responding, she began to get a bit worried. She remembered that their neighbor was a doctor, so she decided to run next door and ask for help. Apparently nobody was home, because she got no answer. And that wasn't the worst of it-- when she tried to come back to the house, the security system wouldn't let her in, and she didn't remember seeing anyone else in the house. She had no other choice but to leave, so she took a cab back to her workplace, vowing to call Mercedes as soon as she got there, to see if she was okay. She said she thought that maybe the cocktail her friend had drunk had been stronger than she expected, and with the hit to her head it had caused her to pass out that quickly. She thought she would wake up sooner or later.

Then she saw on TV the news about the murder, and she had become hysterical. She was terribly afraid that it was her fault, and that she was going to go to jail for the rest of her life. It was that fear that led her to lie to Eric in the first place, which she now apologized profusely for. She'd been in a quandary all afternoon. However, by dinnertime, her guilt had gotten the better of her and she realized that she had to assume her guilt... one way or the other. And she headed up to the roof. The rest, Horatio knew.

She was shaky but sure throughout her whole story. Then Horatio carefully asked her if she was sure that was all that had happened, because Mercedes had been thrown from her balcony into her pool, and had actually drowned to death; and when Marla heard this, her vital sign monitors went crazy. Her heartbeat sped up, her breathing became labored, and her speech became barely understandable. However, in between the hacks, the coughs and the agonizing moans, Horatio heard her say over and over that she would never do that to Mercedes. That it hadn't been her who had thrown her into the pool; that she swore to God that when she left, Mercedes had been lying in her bed, unconscious but alive.

That much he heard before a barrage of nurses came in to help her, telling him that he should wait outside.

As he sat there, he concluded that he believed her when she said she hadn't pushed Mercedes into the pool. Of course, she could be lying in order to get her jail sentence reduced under the allegation that there was no malicious intent behind her actions, but Horatio didn't think this was the case. She felt guilty, she truly had believed it was her fault Mercedes was dead as she told him her story; this was evidenced by her suicide attempt. And when she found out her friend had been killed in a different way, she became so agitated that she was a second short of going through cardiac arrest. There was no way that was an act; you just don't jeopardize your life to that point to get out of an extended jail sentence. No, even with her history of lying to Eric, Horatio truly believed she had done exactly as she'd explained to him.

It took about fifteen minutes for them to stabilize her again. Her doctor came out of the room and let Horatio in on her condition, which admittedly was pretty much the same as it had been before Horatio had come in: still alive, but still hanging by a thread. And it was with this phrase in mind that Horatio headed out of the hospital.

About forty-five minutes later, as he was making his way towards the lab, he received another call, this time to tell him that Marla had just died.

--  
--

Calleigh was looking over and signing some paperwork for evidence in the lobby when Ryan walked in from the lockers. As he saw her and smiled, she couldn't help but think that it was lucky she was actually doing something at the moment and she hadn't needed an excuse to stand there and wait for him. Because she was really eager to see him that particular morning, but she wasn't the needy type and so she needed a purpose so the encounter was absolutely casual.

Since their dinner last night... since their argument, really, she was starting to notice things she wouldn't have seen the previous day at this hour. Like his smile, for example. She hadn't noticed that he had a smile he only gave her. It was a boyish sort of grin, complete with shiny eyes and an air of complete happiness, of having just seen the sun come out after a cloudy day. It was contagious, it made her smile-- and quite frankly, it made her want to jump him. The thought would never leave her lips, of course.

"Hey," he smiled at her. He walked up to the receptionist's desk, which she was writing on, and stood beside her. That was another thing she was just starting to notice, actually: he always stood really close to her. Not in an invasive way, but always closer than strictly necessary for co-workers. She just hadn't ever given it a second thought. Now she was very aware of his body standing next to her, though.

"Hey," she replied, smiling back, of course. "Sleep well?"

"Actually I did, considering it was only like two hours," he admitted with a shrug. It was then that she noticed, pleasantly, of course, that this morning he had opted to wear a white shirt and black sweater-vest combo, with jeans. Well, the man was nothing but attentive to her words. And she approved. "Uh, were you assigned to anything big?"

"Oh, you know, the usual ballistics," she replied, gesturing to the paperwork that was in front of her. "Bullet striations to compare and such."

"Does it have to do with last night's shooting?" he was immediately curious.

"Yeah. Night Shift found a 9-mill in a trash can near the scene..."

"And then they found Mercedes Valencia's boyfriend acting suspicious a couple of blocks from there." He caught her drift even before she finished speaking. She nodded. He crossed his arms. "He also tested positive for GSR. Sounds like it's not going to be too hard to put the gun in his hands."

"Well, at least I hope so; we'll have to wait and see." She turned towards the papers on the desk and held up her pen to keep signing. "Why do you ask?" she added, as an afterthought, as she wrote.

"Oh, nothing," he leaned against the desk, just gazing at her. "I gotta go back to the Valencias' place now, the mother needs clearance into the scene so she can take some stuff with her for her son, or something. Anyway, I was thinking maybe we could have lunch together?"

She found it very cute that, even after their conversation yesterday, he was still so hopeful when he asked. Like she'd turn him down, honestly. "Sure, that sounds great."

He gave her the smile again. "Awesome. I was thinking of this place I really like..."

"Excuse me?"

They both turned towards the voice. "Miss Warren. Is there anything we can help you with?" Ryan would later have to admit that he cringed when he saw that it was Pamela who was requesting their assistance. After all that happened yesterday, he half-expected Calleigh to act cold towards the babysitter, but he was proven wrong as her tone was nothing but perfectly polite.

"Yes, uh, hi," she smiled weakly at both cops before stating her purpose. She was wearing sweatpants like the previous day, along with a white tank top and a hoodie, yellow-orange socks and sport sandals. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. It seemed like she'd just come in from a jog. "I was thinking of picking up some of the stuff I left at the Valencia's house yesterday. I don't know if the crime scene tape's been removed, but since I heard on the news that Marla the hairstylist confessed to the crime... I was hoping someone could at least let me in?"

"Actually, I was just going that way," Ryan intervened. "Mrs. Valencia also requested to visit the house today. If you just wait a second, you can come with me and I'll give you clearance." The nanny smiled at him and nodded. "Good, then just wait for me outside, okay?"

"I'll do that. Thanks, Ryan. Oh, and thank you, Ms. Duquesne." She gave them both one more smile and stepped backwards towards the elevator.

Calleigh moved to turn back to her paperwork, when she noticed that Ryan was smiling amusedly, gazing downward toward the floor. "Was there a joke I missed?"

"She color-codes her socks for each day of the week," he started, in a tone somewhere between disbelief and laughter. "Yesterday, they were blue, as in sapphire. Today, they're orange, as in saffron."

He started chuckling. He should have paid more attention to Calleigh's face, however, for he would have seen that same cold expression she showed all day yesterday make a repeat appearance. "Well, you two are just made for each other, aren't you? She's the only person who would do that, and you're the only person who would notice it." She seemed to think better about her location because before Ryan could say anything, she closed the folder all the papers were held in, picked it up and started her way towards the Ballistics Lab.

Ryan was left staring at her trail, open-mouthed. His hands rose and fisted in his hair. "I have got to learn to keep my mouth shut." He leaned against the desk, and couldn't help but punch it lightly in frustration. "Damn it!"

--  
--

Natalia was pouring over Mercedes Valencia's torn jeans with a magnifying glass. Alexx had asked her to do it; she hadn't said what to look for, though, and so Natalia was a bit reluctant to come to one specific conclusion over any other. Not that she hadn't found anything, though-- she had noticed something quite interesting, something that they couldn't see in the body.

It was right where the pants were slashed, at thigh-height. Barely a half-centimeter above the gap in the left leg, on the inside of the garment, there was a red blob, presumably blood. It was barely noticeable from the outside, which is probably why nobody had seen it the previous day. It was almost round, only with a very slight stretch to the left; it was small, and darker than the rest of the red slashes of blood that came from the cut against the windowsill, and that had mostly faded because they were washed away by the chlorinated water of the pool.

She took pictures of this oddity at different zoom levels, but still had many doubts regarding it. It was so different from the rest of the blood in the pants. What did that mean? Was this what Alexx was looking for?

"Hey. How are you feeling?" She heard Eric walking into the room.

"Oh, I'm okay," she assured him as best as she could, though her frown was still in place. Her mind had not left the stains on the jeans, just like her eyes hadn't left the camera lens. "It doesn't even hurt anymore; I just can't move my arm too harshly."

"Yeah, I can see you're not thinking about it," he said, noticing her expression wasn't quite what you'd expect from someone who was okay. He looked at her, curious, eyebrows raised. "What's up?"

She finally looked up and realized she was being a bit rude. "Oh. I'm sorry, it's just... You know what? Take a look at this, will you?" She put the camera aside, positioned a magnifying glass and then stood back to let Eric look at the stain. "What do you make of it?"

Eric was quiet for a while as he thought about it, but then gave her his honest answer. "That didn't come from the cut on her leg."

"It looks like a gravitational droplet," Natalia added, sharing one of her theories, to see what he thought of it.

He shook his head. "No, the only wound on her that bled so much that it could produce a droplet of blood was on the back of her head. This is in the front. And anyway," he looked back at her, now frowning as well, puzzled by her discovery. "The stain is on the inside of her pants; there's no way it could get there so cleanly if it was a droplet."

Natalia shrugged. "Then where did it come from?"

"You know what it reminds me of?" he put out, his eyes far away, remembering something in a distant past. "When you give blood for any reason, and after a while you take off the band-aid, the blood forms a round blob on the gauze, just like this one."

"You think this was made by a syringe," she said, more than asked, staring at him straight-on. "An injection doesn't produce much blood, though; it's different when you're taking a blood sample, the needle is thicker and you're specifically searching for a vein. The syringe would have left a mark if that were the case, Alexx would have seen it."

"Sometimes blood seeps out of an injection site if you move too much, or if you lean to one side," he said, and pointed towards the magnifying glass. More specifically, to the slight point the stain had towards the left.

Natalia's eyes widened. "She was leaning on the left side when she fell onto the bed after she hit her head." She took one more look at the jeans, and crossed her arms. "She was injected. Someone injected her with something while she was unconscious," she concluded, in an amazed voice.

"Tox didn't find any extraneous chemicals in her blood, though," Eric reminded her.

"Well, I don't know what to make of that, but I think Alexx has an idea about it. She's the one that asked me to look at this." She frowned again. "Wait. So when she woke up she got up, opened the window and then fell into the pool? It makes no sense."

"So whatever she was injected with was either slow-acting or... not meant to hurt her," Eric shrugged.

"That's just so strange." She took the magnifying glass aside and picked up the pants, to put them in their evidence bag. "Well, I guess that's as far as I go with this. I'll go tell Alexx what we found." She carefully taped and initialed the bag, then turned and smiled at Eric as she capped the marker she had used. "Thanks for the help."

"It was nothing. I got some stuff to do, I'll see you later, alright?" He threw her a lopsided smile and left the room as she put the evidence bag inside the box she'd received it in.

--  
--

"I already told you, I had nothing to do with it."

"Yeah, sure, so your fairy godmother popped up and sprinkled GSR all over your hand." Frank Tripp put his weight on his hands as he leaned over the table to glare at Tommy Mendez. The younger man's hair was pointing in every direction; his eyes were devoid of any life, with dark bags right under; his clothes were wrinkled and smelly, a couple buttons torn off. All in all, he looked like the living dead. Frank, however, wasn't feeling very sensitive at the moment.

"So my friends and I were shooting some cans in an alley behind a bar. They said it would make me feel better. I don't even own a gun, man," Tommy shook his head, his voice hollow.

"That hasn't stopped you before," Frank fanned Tommy's criminal record in front of his face.

"Listen, Columbo, I know what you're trying to do here." Tommy leaned forward, glaring right back at the Texan. "You're pressuring me so I confess to a crime I didn't commit. But you know what? I'm not falling for that."

"Well, well, look at Sparky here. He's been in the hot seat so many times, he thinks he knows everything." Tripp stood upright and crossed his arms, still glaring daggers at Mendez. "We should just let him question himself, Horatio."

"Mr. Mendez, what were you doing when you were detained for 'suspicious behavior'?" The head of CSI asked, hands on his waist as he took a step forward, letting Tripp know without words that he should back off for a moment. He knew Frank was easily incensed, especially if the suspect was giving him lip like Tommy Mendez had from the first second they stepped into a room together, but procedure still had to be followed.

"I was running. Some paparazzo was stalking me so I bolted." Mendez shrugged, like it happened every day. Actually, Horatio knew it did to him, and he usually didn't care all that much (any publicity is good publicity) but today he couldn't deal with it, and it made perfect sense.

"At 2 AM, in a back alley." Horatio stated, not looking at him but making it quite obvious that he doubted Tommy's word.

"You wanna ask my friends, you just have to find them. I can give you their names," Tommy sentenced, crossing his arms.

"Called a couple of your flunkies yesterday so they'd agree to be your alibi?" Frank inquired from the back of the room.

"I think there are no such friends, Tommy," Horatio looked towards the window, to the view of some of Miami's most magnificent buildings. "I have two witnesses that put you at the scene. So here's what I think: I think... that you were at that bar, drinking your grief away, and you saw on TV what was happening. Then you went to that building and you shot Marla."

"I'd like to see you prove that," Tommy challenged, though his tone showed no more emotion than it had at any point in the interrogation.

"Don't they know that when they say that, you guys go and prove it?" Frank muttered, and only Horatio was close enough to hear it. However, before he could say anything about Tripp's inquiry, someone knocked on the room's glass door.

Both detectives turned to see Medical Examiner Alexx Woods signaling to Horatio to come outside. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I will only be gone for a minute." He stepped outside and was met with the doctor's worried frown. "Alexx. What's wrong?"

"Well, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong with this picture," she showed him the folder she was holding, which contained the results of Mercedes Valencia's post-mortem blood tests. "So when I got home I hit the books, and saw that there is definitely something strange about these results. Horatio, this girl was seventeen; as agitated as she could have been by her argument with Marla, her body does not need such high levels of adrenaline to activate the fight-or-flight impulse. This much excess epinephrine in her system is completely abnormal and non-documented under natural conditions."

Horatio frowned now, puzzled. "Alexx, are you telling me she was injected with adrenaline?"

Alexx nodded. She turned the page on the folder, and now showed him the pictures of Mercedes jeans she had just been given. "Natalia just confirmed it. She was injected on her left thigh, almost exactly where she cut it against the windowsill. That's why we didn't notice it before."

Horatio nodded, eyes fixed on the photograph. "EpiPen?"

"Or something similar. It would fit, considering her medical history."

"Was she having an allergic reaction?"

"Histamine levels on her blood were perfectly normal," Alexx gave him a significant look.

He caught it immediately. "So someone else injected her. Can her death be pinned to this person?"

Her head tilted to the side for a moment, her way of saying she wasn't really sure. "Epinephrine has several different effects when it's released into the bloodstream. It acts as a bronchodilator in case of asthma or an allergy, but it also increases heart rate and stroke volume. I think it's not too much of a stretch to say that this would have agitated her to the point of hyperventilation, which explains the cerebral hypoxia-- shallow water blackout. We thought she was running from someone, but perhaps she just opened the window because she needed more air."

"May be a stretch, but it would certainly fit the rest of the evidence." Horatio remained silent for a while, ruminating on the specialist's words as he stared at the results of the deceased's blood test. The amount of adrenaline in the bloodstream jumped out at him like it was bolded, italicized and underlined. "Thank you, Alexx. We'll just have to announce that the case is not closed yet."

"I'm sorry it took me this long to figure it out, Horatio," the woman said, truly disappointed that she'd lost a whole day having doubts about the test results but not having taken any action regarding those doubts.

The man shook his head with an amused smile. "Nonsense. You figured it out, and that's what matters. You're the only one who could do it."

Alexx nodded, relieved and thankful that he was so understanding. He went back inside the room where Tripp was still questioning Tommy Mendez, as Alexx left.

Tommy was speaking as he entered. "Look, what do you want me to say? I didn't shoot Marla. I didn't shoot her, but if she's dead, then I'm glad. She killed Merce."

Frank grunted and looked to Horatio, expecting him to say something. And Horatio certainly had something to say. "That's just it, Tommy. You see, Marla is dead, but she didn't kill Mercedes." As the young man's face blanched, Horatio turned to the other detective. "Frank, I need you to officially inform Homicide and have them announce to the press that we're looking for someone else. A second person went into that room and killed Mercedes Valencia." 

·

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**Author's Notes--**

Ugh. I hate this chapter. It's pure crap. I tried to fix it, but I couldn't and at the moment I'm just so sick of staring at it, I decided to just publish it like it is and be rid of it. I'll make it up to you guys in the next chapter, I swear! Gosh, it's just constructed so weakly. Feel free to drown me in my own plot holes, I'm sure there's thousands of them in this chapter.

Hellooooooo, OOC!Eric! It's nice to meet you! -headdesk-.

I'm aware that a person with a punctured lung probably wouldn't be able to speak as lengthily as Marla did. Let's say, for the purpose of this fic, that they thought it was her lung at first, but it turned out it wasn't... it turned out that the bullet had gotten lodged somewhere equally fatal but that would allow her to speak, with some effort. Don't kill me here, I'm a chemical engineer, not a doctor.

Disrhythmia, or arrhythmia, literally means out of rhythm. In the medical sense, the term cardiac arrhythmia or disrhythmia is used to indicate that the heart is beating faster or slower than normal.

_In the next chapter!:_ Well, as I'm determined to make chapter 7 the last one, you understand that I'm reluctant to give you too much information. What I can say is: they'll definitely get to the bottom of the case... no pun intended... and as far as I know (these characters tend to write themselves, I'm really not liable for what they say or do, you see), my shipmates from one particular ship will be pretty happy. I'm not saying which, though. -Carla.


	7. Chapter 7: Truth

**IN TOO DEEP**

**Chapter 7: Truth**

**Disclaimer: **'CSI: Crime Scene Investigation' and 'CSI: Miami,' characters and all related terms and concepts are trademarked property of CBS Productions and Alliance Atlantis Communications. No copyright infringement is intended or contained within this story. I am in no way affiliated or recognized by CBS, just a fan writing for fun. And I should have said this before, but EpiPen is a trademark of DEY, L.P., even though the use of the name for any epinephrine auto-injector has become quite common nowadays.

**Note:** Hello! Thanks for giving this fic a try. Please don't forget to read the author's notes at the bottom; they may contain useful information to the readers. -Carla.

**Note 2:** Warning: the usual "Science Content" one. Here's where everything's explained. And just so you know, italicized text can be either thoughts, or a "flashback" scene, depending on the context. I'm sure you'll get it when you read it. -Carla, again.

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While the ladies sorted out their belongings under supervision of two patrol officers, Ryan went back to the scene of the crime, as per Horatio's orders. Just as he'd been putting the key into the ignition of his Hummer, he had gotten the call that the case was not closed yet, because they had just found out there was more to the story behind the CoD. And so he was back in Mercedes' room, trying to see if he could find the expected murder weapon: a syringe. 

He had to admit he was getting frustrated. He'd been looking for half an hour and so far he hadn't found anything that hadn't already been noticed.

He looked at Mercedes' walk-in closet, the one that was only for shoes, with a very significant amount of dread. How a seventeen-year old could collect that insane amount of pairs of shoes in her lifetime was a complete mystery to him. Still, he was a CSI and he had to examine every single square foot of that room in order to find what he was looking for. Sadly, since a syringe could very well fit inside a high heel, it was necessary for him to check each and every single shoe in that closet.

Oh, how he wished there was a rookie in with him that he could delegate the job to. But no such luck.

He was about ready to dive in, when a knock on the door stopped him. "Wolfe? The Mrs. says there's something you need to see."

Ryan frowned, but followed Officer Roberts out of the room. The man led Ryan to the opposite wing of the mansion, to what he believed was the master bedroom. This belief was confirmed when he entered the room-- it was more like a suite, really, complete with a waiting room-- and saw Eloisa Valencia standing beside her bed, hugging herself as she looked down, towards the Italian-carpeted floor with a darkened semblant.

For a second Ryan feared the worst; that it was a second body or something similar. It was only when he was completely inside the bedroom that she looked up to him. "CSI Wolfe," she said gravely, and stretched an arm to point towards the tan-colored trashcan that was situated beside her bed, under her night table.

Feeling a bit relieved, he walked forward and looked into the basket. And sure enough, the only thing inside it was an EpiPen syringe. Used.

Mrs. Valencia followed him, asking questions, as he went back to Mercedes' room to pick up his kit and the camera. "What is that doing in my room, Officer Wolfe? It wasn't there when I left yesterday. Did my daughter have an allergy attack, as well?"

"You're sure it was your daughter's?" The woman nodded, explaining that her son also had one, but it was different, a 'for kids' version of the EpiPen, with a lower adrenaline dosage. "I'm afraid that syringe caused your daughter's death, Mrs. Valencia." They reached the room shortly, and Ryan extended a gloved hand to stop the woman from entering. "You're gonna have to stay out; I don't want you disturbing the crime scene anymore."

"What are you talking about, the syringe killing Merce?" the woman stayed outside but that did not deter her from speaking out her confusion. "I thought she drowned. Marla pushed her into the pool; the woman confessed."

"Marla only confessed to causing the blunt force trauma to her head. She didn't throw her into the pool; Mercedes did that herself," he explained as he took pictures of the trashcan from different angles.

"Are you suggesting Merce committed suicide?" the woman shrieked, eyes going wide at the younger man. She would never believe her daughter, who was so young and full of life, had decided to jump out her window because of a silly argument with her mother. She'd raised her to be stronger than that. She wouldn't let anyone entertain the thought.

"Not at all, Ma'am," Ryan hurried to say, as he put the camera down. He didn't want the woman to misunderstand. "She was injected with the EpiPen. When it's used on someone who's not going through an allergic reaction... let's just say it caused her to need air. She went to open the window, and then my guess is she lost her balance and fell in." He picked up the pen and examined carefully.

"But Marla didn't do this?" Eloisa's voice came back to him, clear enough that he could spot a slight tremble in it even from his kneeling position on the other side of the bed. "Someone else killed my baby? How can that be?"

"Seems that way," he replied, to her second question only. That was as much as he really should tell her about the case so far, for many reasons. He looked in his kit for an evidence bag, into which he put the EpiPen, then sealed and tagged. "And I'm afraid this particular piece of evidence puts you back in the suspects list."

The woman crossed her arms, glaring at the CSI. Ryan noticed she was pale; that could be from nerves, or it could also be despair at knowing her daughter's death was still unsolved. There was no way to know at the moment. "Must we go over this again? I thought we'd already established that I wasn't here. I did not kill my daughter."

"That will have to be double and triple-checked now," Ryan's eyebrows rose as he spoke, like he was saying 'well, that's life' without words. He took off his gloves, picked up his case and got ready to leave. "I have to take this to the lab now. If you'd come with me, Ma'am? We could get this over and done with."

The fashion designer said nothing, but kept glaring at Ryan as they walked outside to where the Hummer, in the garage so they wouldn't be bothered by reporters. They stopped only to let Pamela know that it was time to go, and she would be taken home by Patrol. After that, they were on their way back to the lab, where the murder weapon would be inspected and hopefully, the culprit would be found.

--  
--

Natalia walked into one of the trace labs as Eric was telling Horatio something. They both quieted as she entered, Eric with his eyebrows raised as if expecting her to say something he had particular interest in hearing. She couldn't help but let him down. "Valera confirmed it, the blood and epithelials in the needle are our vic's. There are no other donors."

Eric shook his head, disappointed. "Well, that settles it. The site of the locking cap is usually a magnet for epithelials." He had performed every single printing test he could do on the auto-injector, and got no positive results. "It's like no one had handled it at all. Instructions state to wrap it in a fist. That's what I was just telling Horatio here, that there should at least be a palm print, even a partial, lipidic smudges, that sort of thing."

"But there's nothing to be found in it," Horatio stated, in a contemplative tone. He just had an idea, but...

"So our killer was wearing gloves," Eric concluded.

Natalia nodded, serious. "That demonstrates malicious intent. Nobody wears gloves in Miami unless they're planning on committing a crime."

"Or if you're a biker," Eric added. He didn't think that had anything to do with this case, though.

"Or if you've been prescribed by a doctor to wear them," Horatio concluded, in that half-disbelieving, half-aghast tone he got sometimes when he cracked a case. Especially when he didn't like the conclusion he had just gotten to. "Thanks, you two. I think I know what's going on here, now." And without anymore explanation, he walked out of the room.

It didn't take long for Natalia to understand, though. Her eyes widened at the realization. "Oh my God."

Eric saw how pale she became, and was even more puzzled. "What is it? What did H mean by that?"

"Nothing, just--" she blinked and took a breath, then let it out as a short sigh. "Wow. I didn't even think this was a possib-- I just..." At Eric's disconcerted expression, she shook her head, trying to put herself and her thoughts together. "It's-- it's just one of those cases. Let's bag all of this stuff and I'll explain, ok?"

He nodded, and they set out to put the evidence bag in its storage containers.

--  
--

Ryan would never get tired of gazing at the imposing figure that was Calleigh Duquesne in the shooting range, earmuffs and safety glasses in place, gun in her hands and arms extended in a shooting position. It was scary how natural and right it was to see her like this. If he allowed himself to be poetic in his thoughts, he'd have to say it was like sneaking a glance at perfection. There was something inherently beautiful about her when she was in this position; not that she wasn't always beautiful, but even more so now, as she demonstrated the power that was really in her being.

The sound of gunshot snapped him out of his reverie. He decided he had to make his presence known, so he cleared his throat.

She turned around, looked at him for half a second, then turned back towards the human-shaped shooting target, getting in position again. "How did it go at the Valencias'?" She stretched her fingers once, then repositioned them around the handle and trigger of the 9-millimeter as she spoke.

Her tone was neutral, but Ryan did notice there was no greeting. "It went fine. Found the murder weapon," he told her, putting his hands in his pant pockets.

She nodded once, acknowledging his deed, but did not offer anything more as a reaction to his words. "Did the mother give you any trouble?"

"Nothing too bad." He leaned against the wall, still staring at her back. She wore her hair loose today, and it cascaded down her back like soft waves. "But I guess I was lucky that her son wasn't there. Everyone's told me he's a handful."

"I thought you liked kids," she said. For some reason, she hadn't fired the next shot yet. That may have been because he wasn't wearing any PPE, but she seemed to be waiting for the conversation to be over.

"I do," he said, his voice picking up. "But I know from experience that they can be very difficult."

"Your niece?" she asked, rather quickly.

He chuckled. "Myself, actually." His chuckle turned to a laugh as he continued. "There's a story my Mom loves to tell... I don't really remember, but when I was about four, my sister kept bugging me, saying light only came out of light bulbs because they were filled with fireflies." He crossed his arms as he reminisced. "I actually went and tried to prove it-- almost got myself electrocuted-- and still she stuck to her story. I got so mad because she was lying, I pulled on her ear ring... it got stuck to her ear so bad, they had to pry it out with pliers."

She didn't say anything. But she did fire the gun she was holding.

That made him sober up really quickly. "I'm just saying that sometimes kids do wrong things if they think they're right." He cleared his throat again, this time because he was nervous. He took a couple more steps into the room, walking closer to her. "Listen, about Pamela..."

"I'd rather not talk about that right now," she cut him off. Her tone was tense. Small talk was over.

"No, actually, I think we need to. I don't know why you're so insecure about her!" He would not be deterred. The Pamela issue had to end right then and there. It took him all of two strides to walk right up to her, until he stood beside her, and looked at her profile. She didn't turn to look at him, but she lowered the gun. He took that as a sign to continue. "You really don't get it, do you? What I feel for you... this isn't just anything, it's not a crush. It's not. It may have started out that way-- the whole freshman thing, you know-- but now... I think... I think I'm in love with you."

By the time he said those last few words, he was out of breath, and his tone was simply amazed, like he had just come to the realization himself. But it was only when she turned to him, wide-eyed, that he realized what he'd said. He hadn't meant to say that, he hadn't meant to go so far. But he'd started speaking and...

"...And I just screwed everything up." Though he was scared of what he would see, he held her gaze for a few moments, as if in a trance. Neither of them said anything. Ryan could feel his pulse beating fast; he knew he'd messed everything up. He hadn't meant to blurt everything out just like that. She wasn't ready, she'd just found out he had feelings for her yesterday and he was swearing his love just one day after? She was going to freak out and never speak to him again, he knew it. And then everything would be awkward between them and he didn't know if he could handle her being distant anymore.

She was more than his mentor, she was the first person to give him a chance when he started in the lab, she was the one who convinced him to look for a job in the lab in the first place. More than that, she was the one person he looked forward to seeing every single day. He should've just kept his mouth shut, but in his frustration, the words just kept coming out... "I'll just... go now." With a disappointed expression, he turned to leave. Disappointed in who, he wasn't sure; he could feel that way at himself for speaking too much, or at her, for her silence. He didn't expect her to stop him.

But she did. She didn't open her mouth once, but she put the gun down onto the table beside her, same as her personal protective equipment, and turned to grab his arm as he started walking. The gentle pressure pulled him back, and he stared at her, half in surprise, half in confusion. She didn't look any different. Her eyes spoke volumes this time around, though. However, he didn't exactly have much time to ponder about this because not half a second later, she pulled him by the front of his sweater-vest and kissed him.

He would be hard-pressed to find an analogy to this kiss later on, but he could swear by anything sacred that the world collapsed into just the two of them the moment her lips touched his. His hands were only almost-resting on her waist, because he was caught by surprise, and her hands were clenched tightly to the soft fabric of his sweater-vest, but her lips, oh, her lips were so soft and so warm. He felt almost inadequate; he'd used the word "perfect" to describe her many times, but he hadn't known what the true meaning of the word "perfection" was until that very moment.

He'd kissed many girls in his lifetime, and they were just fine, even really good, but this... Gosh, he knew he could never get enough of this.

It was the longest few seconds of his life, but it was also the shortest eternity, as they kissed slowly, tentatively but sweetly. Finally they separated, eyes opening at the same time, staring into the depths of each others' eyes, hearts beating in unison.

She took a couple of deep breaths, but her voice was still husky when she spoke. "First off... Not insecure, just... possessive. And second," she gave him a flirty smile, "you haven't screwed anything up. Let's just... take this one step at a time, ok?"

He smiled... _her_ smile, the one she'd just discovered and that she liked so much. Then he leaned in and captured her lips again.

This second kiss was different; it was much deeper and much more passionate. His arms went completely around her waist, pulling her close to him, and her arms wrapped around his neck, hands getting lost in his hair. Maybe it was because he felt the need to bring her body even closer to his, or maybe it was because his knees were shaky, but he started moving forward and soon enough Calleigh ended up pressed against a wall. But she didn't mind one bit.

She tasted sweet, like coffee with cinnamon, and it had the same calming but electrifying effect on him. Even with two layers of clothes on, he shuddered when her hand took a path down his back. His own hand was lost in her hair, and it was so soft; the most luxurious and sensual texture he had ever felt. She moaned at this touch, and the instinctual, dominant male part of him was elated that she was making those sounds because of him; and anxious to make sure she kept making them forever.

Then she suddenly opened her eyes, like she'd just thought of something. She urgently started to push against his shoulder. "Ryan. Ryan, stop, stop, stop!" He conceded, but his mind was far too cloudy, still reeling from their kiss, to understand where she was getting with this. His confusion must've been clear from his expression, because she hurried to explain. "We're at work. Everyone can walk by and see us!"

He still frowned. "You're right. We'll... do this later," he said, very slowly, like he still didn't quite get it. He was sure he sounded like a complete moron, but it wasn't his fault, really; for a while there, it was like he didn't know where he was standing. And he hadn't even let go of her yet.

She laughed at his expression. "After the shift is over, hmm?"

"Okay," he finally nodded, stepping back. It was a bit awkward because they had to fix their clothes, they were all wrinkled. As he left, he gave her one last glance, and she smiled as she picked the 9-mill up again and got ready to shoot. At the sound of gunfire he crossed the threshold, thinking that it didn't matter if everybody else saw them kissing anyway, because he couldn't contain his grin, and he was sure everybody would know something had happened as soon as they say him.

--  
--

"Lieutenant Caine, I really don't think this is necessary," Eloisa Valencia followed Horatio through the hallways of the hospital, incensed, as the man tried to make his way towards the private room where Tito was staying. "My son already told you everything he knew, and I think we've been through enough in these last two days, so I would appreciate it if you could leave. You will just upset him more, he just went through a crisis. And if the reporters see you walking in and out of here all the time they'll think--"

"Mrs. Valencia, I know what you do makes you important to a lot of people," Horatio stopped right before the door to Tito's room, playing with the earpieces of his sunglasses, which he had taken off when he entered the medical facility but had not put in his pocket yet. He stood sideways in the woman's viewpoint, and looked at her at an angle. "But I assure you, right now it is much more important that I'm able to do what I do, and that's an investigation. Now, I promise you the child will not be upset at all, but I need to get some information and I need you to stand in the sidelines until I'm done. Understood?"

She looked like she wasn't going to agree, but Horatio didn't give her a choice as he opened the door to the room and walked right in. The boy looked up as they entered; he was playing with his handheld videogame like the last time, but this time around he was pouting a lot more. "Mamá, estoy aburrido. I want a new game, this one sucks."

"Bebé, the lieutenant here wants to ask you some questions," she explained in a cutting tone, mostly directed at Horatio, though, not at her son. She moved to stand beside the bed and ran a hand through his son's dark hair. "We'll talk about the game later, okay?"

"Hello, Tito. How are you?" Horatio smiled at the boy as a peace offering. Far be him from standing between Tito Valencia and his videogames, but it had to be done.

The boy let out a deep sigh, like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Bored," he said.

It made Horatio smile. Only a kid, he thought. Only a kid could be like that. "I'm sure your mother will take care of that very soon," he assured the boy. "Now, Tito... did you see your sister yesterday when she got home? Before you saw her... swimming in the pool, that is."

The boy stared at Horatio for a moment, then nodded. His mother gasped. "Why hadn't you said that before?! It was important--"

"Ma'am, please," Horatio cut her off. She stayed quiet. The CSI turned to the little boy again. "Tito, listen carefully. I need you to tell me exactly what happened when you saw her."

The boy frowned. "I went to her room to ask her if she'd come home to play with me. She'd promised."

"And what did she say?" he asked the boy in the most childishly curious tone he could muster. He needed to show him he wasn't threatening, but instead he was interested in everything the kid had to say. It was a sure way to get the boy's trust and to make the truth surface.

Tito shook his head. "She was sleeping on her bed."

Horatio nodded. "Yes, I'd heard something like that." He looked around and saw a chair nearby. He dragged it to Tito's bedside and sat in it, leaning closer to the boy. "What happened after that? Did you go to your mother's room?"

The boy hurriedly looked down, staring at the videogame in his hands. He kept quiet. "Tito?" Horatio kept trying. "Tito, it's okay. You're not in trouble; I just need you to tell me the truth. What happened in Mercedes' room?"

The kid looked up to Horatio, blinked owlishly, then turned to look at his mother. Soon enough, he turned to Horatio again. "It was her fault," he said, completely calm, like he was stating a fact. He even shrugged after completing the phrase. "She promised she would play with me, but she wouldn't. People who don't keep their promises are bad. She was being bad, so I had to give her a shot." He looked back down and continued playing his game. He was completely convinced he had done the right thing.

He had no idea what he had done.

His mother's gasp and muttered "Jesús alabado!" drew his attention. When he looked up to her, she'd taken her hands to her face and tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Mamá?" He put down the game and crawled up to her, tugging at her shirt. "What's wrong? Por qué lloras?" The woman just stared at him, not saying anything. Her hands were firmly placed around her mouth and nose. Tito turned to Horatio, with a worried frown adorning his chubby face. "Why is Mamá crying? Is she hurt?"

Even Horatio was at a loss for words in this situation. He inched closer to the boy and put a hand on his shoulder. "Tito... sometimes... it's not up to you or me, or anyone, to decide if someone did something wrong." The kid still frowned, not understanding. Horatio closed his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts. "And no matter what we think about them... it's not up to us to punish them, either. No matter what anyone says."

The boy cocked his head to the side, trying to piece together what the older man was trying to tell him, but he couldn't. He had just done what he'd been taught since he was a baby; he didn't know what this had to do with anything. And he was worried about his mother, who was crying and he didn't know why. "Just remember: This isn't your fault. Okay?" Tito nodded, if only because everybody was being so serious. Horatio stared at him for a long time, wondering if there was anything else he could say. He squeezed the boy's shoulder. "You're going to be okay, son." He gave Tito a smile; a sad one, but at smile nonetheless. The boy just stared back at him, in confusion.

Finally he stood up from the chair, and putting his glasses in his pocket, he turned to leave the room. As he was about to cross the threshold, Eloisa Valencia's choked voice stopped him. "Lieutenant Caine."

Horatio stopped, but did not turn around. He only lowered his head, waiting for the woman to continue speaking. He heard her take a couple of deep breaths, and her voice was steady and somber as she spoke again. "This information will not make it out to the public."

Horatio stood, quiet and still, thinking that for once, he agreed with the woman. No matter what had happened, Tito was just an innocent child. So innocent that he was not aware of how grave the situation really was. And beyond the oath to "serve and protect," Horatio had sworn to himself that as long as it was humanly possible, he would do anything to make sure no child paid the cost of innocence lost. It would already be traumatic enough for Tito when he finally did understand what had happened; he didn't need the added pressure of having his involvement in this unfathomable tragedy be vented out into the open. "As you wish, Ma'am." And he briskly walked out of the room.

--  
--

"...And did you see how Ryan's been grinning all afternoon? I swear, I don't even wanna know what went on there last night." Eric was shaking his head adamantly as he put the box in its place on the top shelf.

Natalia had asked Eric to help her put the evidence boxes back in the evidence locker, because she was forbidden by the doctor to handle heavy stuff. Easy banter was exchanged all the way. She laughed out loud at his comment. "Oh, come on. What are you, twelve? Be mature about this."

"I'm trying, but it's just weird..." He turned to pick up another box. It seemed like he was going to say something else, but he was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. He signaled for Natalia to wait a sec, and picked up the call. "Delko." After listening to whoever was on the other end of the line for about two seconds, he smiled. "Hey... I know, I'm sorry. Things got really hectic here last night, I'm sure you saw it all on TV... Yeah, I'm working on that. See? It wasn't my fault..." Apparently the person said something funny, because he laughed heartily. "No, if I wanted to avoid you I'd think of a better excuse than random celebrities dying, I swear. Let me make it up to you, why don't we meet sometime next week?"

Natalia did her best to appear like she wasn't hearing anything. She looked everywhere but at him, not even out of the corner of her eye, trying to appear nonchalant... she had to look weird, she knew it; evidence boxes weren't THAT interesting, after all. But the truth was, at that point it was better if she just looked away rather than letting him know from her expression that her heart was growing a little heavier with each one of his sentences. He was talking to a girl; it didn't take a genius to figure that one out.

"Sure, we'll hang out... y'know what I mean. Mm-hm... Sure... Call me around Wednesday, that sound good? ...Okay, bye." He closed his phone and put it back in his pocket. "Sorry about that," he told Natalia, who was still not looking at him.

"Had to miss a date because of all the excitement yesterday, huh?" She smiled lightly, though inside she was screaming at herself because the smile was completely fake. Her eyes still didn't cross Eric's line of vision. If he noticed the tightness around her mouth, though, he didn't say anything. _Of course he wouldn't_, Natalia growled to herself internally. _He's not looking at your mouth at all, you stupid woman. Get a hold of yourself!_

At his nod, she realized she couldn't stay quiet, so she kept going against her will. "Didn't sound like she was too upset."

He laughed, rather like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Let's just say she's not much of a conversationalist." Natalia nodded, kind of like a psychologist's 'wise' nodding when piecing together their patient's problems. Eric laughed again, this time at her expression. They both knew "lack of conversation skills," in male jargon, meant that she was hot, but brain-dead. An airhead. Bimbo, was a name that made Natalia feel particularly better about the situation. "Not bad company for a while, though," he continued. "Don't you hate it sometimes when overtime gets in the way?"

Natalia "pff"-ed in a way that was entirely too enthusiastic to be true, or so she told herself right after. "Don't I!" she exclaimed, throwing a few chuckles here and there, mostly because she had no idea what else to say. It was hard to make it seem like you had to cancel dates because of work sometimes if the last date you had was with a certain Ryan Wolfe more than a year ago. Boy, was she feeling more and more pathetic by the second...

"Yeah." He situated another box in the top shelf, then put his hands in his pockets. "That was the last one?"

"Yep," she told him, in a clipped tone. She'd run out of things to say. Rather urgently, she took a look at her wristwatch.

This time around, Eric did notice that she seemed uncomfortable. "Something wrong?"

And this time around, she couldn't avoid looking at him, not anymore. If she didn't acknowledge his concerned gaze, he would definitely know something was going on. So she looked at him, corners of her mouth barely edging up, giving barely a hint of a smile. "Nothing, just... uh, feeling a bit hungry, I guess." She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her shoulders. "Actually, I think I'll just go and get something to eat. I'll see you later."

She left the evidence locker in a hurry. Eric wasn't sure what to think, but after yesterday, he wasn't sure he should pry anymore.

--  
--

It was strange how the weather in Miami could change in a second, Horatio thought as he stood outside the Crime Lab building that noon. Where it had been pouring that very morning, now the sun shined brightly. Horatio put his sunglasses on as he watched Alexx give a folder to one of her subordinates. The man would be in charge of reporting to the press what they had found regarding the Valencia case, at a press conference that was to be held in about an hour.

That was originally to be Alexx's job; however, when Horatio explained the true circumstances surrounding the death, she begged out. "I understand why we should do this, Horatio. Believe me, I do. For goodness' sake, he's just a baby..." She had sighed sadly, shaking her head. "I believe it's the right thing to do," she had put her arms around herself, like she felt cold. "But I don't think I can go up there and purposefully withhold information. Please don't ask me to do that."

"I would never," Horatio assured her. That's when they had agreed that she would prep one of her aides and guide him through her forensic report on the case, so he could make an appearance at the press conference. They were all in accordance that it was the best course of action.

"Thank you for agreeing with this, Horatio," Alexx told him now, as she got to his side at the main entrance to the Lab. Her fellow medicine practitioner had just left in a department-issued Hummer and she was confident he would do well in front of the cameras.

"There's no need to thank me, Alexx," Horatio smiled at her, putting a hand to her shoulder. With that light pressure, he guided her into the lab. There was still work to do; the Marla case was still open.

The head of the Miami-Dade CSI team met up with Calleigh on his way to the interview room. "His lawyer's been making all the right inquiries. Not surprising, considering his criminal history, or the way he managed to avoid it, at least," she told Horatio as she walked up to him, the rhythm of her steps matching his unconsciously. She meant "he" as in Tommy Mendez. "His father's name and fortune is backing him up."

"That doesn't matter. You got him, didn't you?" His tone was amused, because he already knew what her answer would be.

She smiled. "I did," she said, handing him a folder with all the details.

"Thank you, Ma'am," he told her, right as he opened the door to the interview room to confront Mendez.

"Is it true? You found out how Merce was killed?" Tommy beat him to the punch, though. The words were out of his mouth before Horatio could even take one look at him. "Tell me. How did it happen?" There was more emotion in his face than Horatio had seen at any point of the last two days. It was a mix of anxiety, fear and anger. It had surely been bubbling under his skin until this very moment.

"I'm afraid the case is not closed yet, so I cannot give you any details." Horatio nodded to the Patrol officer that accompanied them in the room as a greeting, while Calleigh sat down opposite to Tommy at the table.

The younger man leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't matter. I'll find out later today, when I get out of here."

"Actually, I don't think you will, Tommy." Horatio stared thoughtfully out the window, at the recently sun-filled Miami landscape. "You see, you killed Marla, and I don't think you'll have television privileges in your holding cell."

"I didn't do it," Tommy affirmed, crossing his arms.

"Mr. Mendez, we know you did," Calleigh intervened. She opened the folder Horatio had left on the table, to show him the print outs from the striation comparisons. "These are from the bullet that was extracted from Marla." She pointed to a particular picture. "These were shot from the firearm we recovered yesterday," she proceeded, pointing to a second picture. "They match perfectly."

"They also match a series of bullets found on IBIS, from an instance when you were accused of assault," Horatio added, finally turning towards the table but looking down at it rather than at Tommy.

"I was cleared of that," Tommy snapped.

"Yes, but you did admit to having fired the gun, it's on record. It was your father's, I believe that's what you said then? Your lawyer somehow found a loophole because your father has a permit to carry a concealed weapon, unlike you," Horatio pushed. The case could be settled in court no matter what; they did have the required evidence, but Horatio was looking for a confession. The faster this man was in prison, the better Horatio would feel, after the way Marla died. He owed her justice after the way she let the truth come out, up to her last breath.

Tommy was silent for a long time, glaring at Horatio. Calleigh pressed him even more. "That, and the gunshot residue test... Mr. Mendez, in your grief over your fiancée's death, you killed Marla. Everything would be so much easier if you just signed a confession."

He looked down, quiet, then took a breath and looked back up, straight at Horatio. "I'll be out by this afternoon."

Horatio walked up to him, having no doubt that all the power behind Tommy Mendez' family would be there to make sure the case against the man was dismissed by any means possible. It was just a case of the evidence being strong enough to support the charges. "That may be true, Tommy, but you know what?" He leaned closer to the younger man, his weight balanced on his arms against the table, and stared at him straight in the eye. "At the end of the day, I'll go to bed knowing I did everything I could to put a killer behind bars. But you? You will forever have the blood of an innocent woman on your hands. Let's see if you can live with that."

He stood straight again, and signaled for the Patrol Officer to take Tommy to the MDPD pre-trial detention facility. The young man did not put up any resistance.

--  
--

"Please, ladies and gentlemen, questions will be answered after Officer Puck and Mr. Robertson are done speaking... Yes. If you please, Sgt. Puck."

_Marla grabbed her friend by the shoulders and shook her. She meant it to be a light shake, but she wasn't aware of her own strength at the time. "Merce, he is not good for you. You should listen to your mother, she's right. He'll only drag you down. You should end this now, before it's too late!"_

_"Marla, stop! I don't need this from you; you're supposed to be my friend! I'm not leaving Tommy. I love him, and he needs me!" The teenager tried to break the older woman's hold on her shoulders._

_"Honey, you're not going to change him. I won't say anything else if you don't want me to, but please, think this through! Gosh!" At the last exclamation, she let go of the smaller girl, intending to cut the argument short. However, she didn't anticipate inertia, and Mercedes fell back on her bed, groaning out loud as she hit her head against the metallic shelf. The impulse made her come to rest against her pillows and stuffed toys. She was very still._

"Thank you. As I was saying, Ms. Marla left the house when she saw Miss Valencia had lost consciousness. She was slightly intoxicated. She declared to one of our Crime Scene Investigators before her death that she wasn't aware Miss Valencia had suffered any trauma from hitting her head on the shelf; instead, she had thought Miss Valencia had passed out due to the alcohol she had ingested. She said she did not know that anyone else was in the house with them, and she had left the house to visit the neighboring house, which is owned by a certain Dr. Ray White, an MD. She stated she wanted him to take a look at Miss Valencia."

_"Merce?" Marla walked up to the bed, staring at the unmoving figure of her friend. "Merce? Come on, I didn't shake you that hard." She gently shook Mercedes, trying to wake her up. There was no response. "Oh, man. I knew I shouldn't have taken her to a bar. Her mom's gonna freak if she finds out she got so drunk that she passed out." She took a look at her wristwatch and sighed. Then she walked out of the room, with a purpose._

_Next door, she rang the doorbell for the hundredth time. "Crap. What do I do now? If I call 911, her mom will know." She took a look at the security gate, which had already refused to let her in, and sighed again. "Guess there's no other way. She'll come out of it eventually. Hopefully before her mom gets home." With slightly unstable steps, she decided she'd walk a few blocks and simply hail a cab. She wasn't supposed to be away from her Salon for so long, anyway. Her personal assistant had proven to be less than efficient lately._

"There was nobody at the time at the White residence, however, and Ms. Marla was not granted access back into the Valencia mansion by the security system; she did not know the access codes. Security files confirm this. Ms. Marla also stated to our officer that she was not carrying a cellular phone, and so could not call Emergency Rescue. In her inebriated state she was confident that Miss Valencia would wake up on her own, so she hailed a cab and returned to her workplace. She declared that she tried to call Miss Valencia several times, both to her cell phone and to her room phone line. This was verified with the phone records. According to Ms. Marla, she was calling to make sure Miss Valencia was alright, but after receiving no answer, she decided to wait some more. It was then that she found out from the television reports that Miss Valencia was, in fact, dead."

_Marla bit her lip as she heard the ringing of the phone on the other line through the auricular she had put to her ear. No answer. Why was no one answering? Surely Mercedes had to be awake by now. She didn't usually sleep that much when she was drunk, if only because the need to throw up usually won the battle over sleep._

_"Boss?" One of her subordinate stylists called her, and she turned to look at him. "The news. It's Mercedes, they're saying she's dead."_

_Marla grew very pale and the phone fell from her hands. "Oh my God," she whispered, running to where many of her clients and helpers were gathered, around the TV screen. She could see on the report the Valencia mansion from the air, and barely heard the reporter explaining that the young heiress had passed away barely half an hour ago. Her ears were ringing; her heart was beating really fast. She wasn't drunk anymore, but she felt she might pass out. She had to sit down._

"As for Miss Valencia, as was previously reported, her cause of death was not the trauma to her head. Instead, we believe that a second person entered the room as Ms. Marla left, and it was this person that set in motion the circumstances that concluded in Miss Valencia's death. I believe Intern Robertson here can explain it better than I can."

_When Mercedes opened her eyes, everything was blurry. She could, however, discern a small figure standing by her bed. "Th... Tito?" the name barely came out of her throat in a raspy way. Her head was pounding and she didn't know how she'd fallen asleep. She felt awful._

_"You promised you'd play with me," the boy said in an affronted tone._

_Mercedes couldn't reply. She wanted to ask him to call someone for help, but it felt like she'd spent all her breath on saying his name. "Ngghh...?" was all she could muster. There was something warm trickling down the nape of her head..._

"Yes. Thanks. Forensics found evidence that Miss Valencia had received some sort of injection before she died. The toxicology tests on her blood did not show the presence of any foreign chemicals in her bloodstream, but we detected very high levels of epinephrine, also known as adrenaline, in her body at the time of death. Epinephrine shots are not uncommon, and are usually used as immediate treatment for anaphylaxis, or allergy attacks. In fact, Crime Scene Investigation found a used epinephrine injection within the residence, and it was proven that this device was used to inject Miss Valencia. However, it was concluded from the test results that she was not going through anaphylactic shock at the moment of her death."

_The boy said nothing, only ran to where Mercedes had left her purse, and pulled out her EpiPen. He walked until he stood by his sister again, and stared at her. Mercedes saw what he was holding but couldn't move. She didn't know what he meant with the auto-injector..._

_Carefully, he undid the locking cap, like he knew from experience; he'd been instructed by a doctor. He took one more look at his sister and quickly, with all his strength, took the needle to her thigh and pushed._

"Epinephrine has several different effects on the body. It is known as the 'fight or flight' hormone, because it prepares the body for immediate reaction in case of danger. In allergy treatment, it is used as a bronchodilator; that is, it opens up the airways allowing for momentaneous relief of the immune response to the allergen, giving patients enough time to get proper medical treatment. In the absence of anaphylaxis, however, other effects dominate, such as increased blood flow to the extremities, increase in the rate of catabolism of glycogen and lipid tissue, and increased heart rate and stroke volume."

_Mercedes immediately gasped, taking in a lot of air, her eyes wide and scared. Tito cringed. "I'm sorry it hurts, Merce. But you promised." And with that, he started walking around the bed to get out of the room._

"When Miss Valencia was injected, the excess epinephrine in her body would have caused her to enter an highly agitated state. Tachycardia and hypertension would be some of the symptoms, as well as the need to hyperventilate in order to keep up with the body's increased demand for oxygen. This would have led her to anxiety. It was determined from the crime scene that Miss Valencia got up from the bed and walked to her balcony, to open the windows. This fits the pattern of reaction of epinephrine and it would have happened within minutes of the moment of injection."

_Every other second, everything around her would become bright, blinding light. She could feel her heart beating furiously, up to a point where her chest started hurting, and the trickling sensation in her neck increased. She felt her arms and legs tense; she kept taking deep mouthfuls of air, and still felt like she didn't have enough. She needed more air. She had to open the windows._

_Her extremities were trembling as she pushed herself up from her prone position. She tried to walk a few steps, but everything around her was spinning, and she fell down. She tried to get up, but she kept slipping, her arms and legs wouldn't hold her up. She tried to crawl to the balcony._

_She had to run out of there. She had to get out; she had to go outside... But she couldn't... Her body wouldn't respond, she felt so weak... she couldn't see straight, everything was blurry... She had to make out before... before... before she ran out of air... She was dying, she needed air..._

"As she opened the sliding window, she cut herself against the windowsill, on her thigh. We'd like to make clear the fact that this did not occur because she was in a state of inebriation. Miss Valencia had ingested alcohol, but the levels of it in her blood were not high enough for her to be legally considered drunk. We believe this was because increased blood flow can cause headaches and light-headedness; between that and the urgency to obtain fresh air, she probably simply lost her balance. This was also what caused her to fall down from the balcony and onto her pool. No evidence was found that proves that she was pushed."

_When she finally made it to the windows, she grabbed onto the windowsill and used all the strength she could muster to hoist herself up. She worked up every last bit of strength in her body to try and drag the panel back until it opened. Her head was still pounding, and she was still unstable on her feet. She swerved from side to side as she pulled. The throbbing in her head was so bad, she didn't even register the pain when her leg started bleeding._

_Finally the window was open and she held onto the frame, sticking her head out as she took in all the fresh air she could take. But as this happened, she realized it wasn't helping. Her heart was still beating madly, her neck still hurt, and she still felt like she wasn't breathing at all. She leaned as far out as she could, trying to get more. Then everything went white for a second and the next thing she knew, she was falling..._

"Once she was in the water, she suffered from a condition known as hypocapnia, which lead to her death through shallow water blackout. Under normal conditions, the body's involuntary urge to breathe is triggered by an excess of carbon dioxide in the bloodstream. If persistent high concentrations of carbon dioxide are present, the body turns to the levels of oxygen to decide if breathing is needed. Hyperventilation can, simply put, wash out most of the carbon dioxide from the bloodstream, leaving the body to think everything is normal and not check the levels of oxygen to trigger the need to breathe. The epinephrine shot caused Miss Valencia to hyperventilate, and when she fell into the water, between her anxiety and the low levels of carbon dioxide, she stayed underwater low enough for cerebral hypoxia to occur, leading her to syncope, or fainting. The cause of death, then, was determined to be drowning due to hypocapnia."

_Her entire body screamed out in pain as she hit the water. She tried to swim, at the very least flail her arms and legs around to keep herself afloat, but between the pain and the dizziness, she couldn't do move. She remembered her last conscious decision, an anxious one at that, because she still felt the need for oxygen screaming inside her, was to hold the air in, to keep herself from drowning until she managed to reach the surface. However, before she could make it out, and replenish the breath she was holding, everything started fading to black. As her eyes closed, she started to slowly fall to the bottom of the pool..._

"We will begin taking questions now."

"Sgt. Puck: Malcolm Ramos from Miami News Daily. Do you have any leads as to Mercedes' actual killer, the person who injected her?"

"Not at the moment. I can't say much, as the case is still open, but I can say we have not found any identifying evidence, such as fingerprints or DNA, at the scene or on the murder weapon, to lead us in any particular direction. The Crime Lab is currently studying other methods we can use so the investigation can move forward."

"Tiffany Smith, Biscayne Bay Tribune. Sgt. Puck, do you believe Marla was killed as a way to silence her?"

"Miss Valencia's boyfriend, Tommy Mendez, is currently in custody and awaiting trial for the death of Ms. Marla. We believe it was a crime of passion, in response to Miss Valencia's murder being initially placed in Ms. Marla's hands. A verdict has not been given yet, and as such I cannot state that Mr. Mendez actually did murder Marla, but we do not believe it to be 'a way to silence her,' as you put it. We're talking celebutantes here, not mob bosses."

"Intern Robertson: Erica Sykes, WFOR-TV. Through your explanation you used the words 'would' and 'probably' a lot. How sure are you really that it happened this way, or is it all just speculation?"

"In truth, there is no way of knowing exactly what happened yesterday, because the rooms in the Valencia household are kept outside the security system, they don't use cameras or something similar. Forensic evidence can only get us so far. However, we do believe this to be one model that fits all the evidence and we're confident that it's the best explanation we can give you from what we've gathered so far."

"Lola Kerry, Entertainment News and Views magazine. Will Eloisa Valencia make an appearance to comment on this situation?"

In an adjacent room, Eloisa Valencia stared blankly at the television screen in front of her. She was sitting on a couch, almost hiding in the very corner of it, arms wrapped tightly around herself in a semi-fetal position. Silent tears were streaming down her face. Her son was not with her; he had been sent to the nanny as soon as he was released from the hospital. This was a grueling moment she had to spend alone; her daughter had been snatched away from her, and she couldn't bring herself to even look at her son, let alone hold him. No, she was all alone, and with the world looking in on her grief.

--  
--

Horatio watched from the main entrance as Frank (rather happily) pushed a handcuffed Tommy Mendez towards a police radio car. He wasn't sure if it was right to feel so neutral about his case. Tommy Mendez had only acted out of his pain, and that, Horatio could understand more than most. No crime goes unpunished, however, and with his attitude and lack of remorse, he'd had it coming for a long time. Some people had to learn that they were not immune to the system and that sooner or later, their deeds would catch up to them.

His thoughts strayed to the Valencia family. Eloisa Valencia was surely staying her ground in front of the press and the world in general, turning her daughter's death into the ultimate theatrical production, and her clothing lines' sales would increase by a lot for next season due to customers' sympathy. But Horatio knew guilt, and so he knew that she would always have that voice in the back of her head whispering that it was all her fault. If she listened to it or not, that was her choice, and he didn't know which choice was the right one, or the healthiest one. A part of him did agree with it, though; the woman had gone out of her way to give everything to her children, while forgetting to give them everything they needed, and that had shifted their priorities so bad, they'd ended up at a dead end.

He hoped Tito still had a chance at having a good life. Oh, he would never lack anything material, but subconscious feelings were very strong, and he didn't want the kid to be or feel pushed aside because of something that was not his fault. Horatio didn't believe Mrs. Valencia, however strong she was, could stand looking at her son and not remembering what happened. And it was unfair to Tito; misguided as he was, he could not, and should not, be blamed. He just hoped it didn't come to worse. He would visit them once in a while, he felt it was necessary.

He thought about Mercedes. She didn't deserve what happened to her. Nobody deserves to die that way, of course, but his sympathy for the young woman made him even more sensitive in this case. She was in love; as wild and rebellious as she was, and as unhealthy as some relationships are, he truly believed she had loved Tommy and had only wanted what was best for him. This wasn't just her trying to make a point to her mother, and it wasn't a publicity stunt; she truly believed she could change him for the better. And maybe she could have, had she been given a little more time. But now her life was cut short, and all of her influence on Tommy was undone in a split second. It wasn't fair; that's life, but it shouldn't have to be.

In the end, all she wanted was love. All that people ever want is to be loved. Horatio was a firm believer in that.

And he would fight to make sure it stayed that way.

Eric, Ryan and Calleigh came up behind him, also watching as Tommy was driven away. "Do you really think he'll manage to be acquitted?" Ryan asked.

Horatio shook his head. "He can't refute the bullet striations. Calleigh did a great job there."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan smile down at Calleigh. She smiled as well, more to all of them than just Ryan. "Thank you," she said. What Horatio didn't see was Ryan's hand move to hold Calleigh's, fingers lightly and comfortably entwining. Neither moved to show any type of reaction, and the movement was so subtle, hardly anyone noticed it, but it was meaningful to the two of them.

"So he'll get jail time, we just don't know how long," Eric added in a serious tone.

"That's out of our hands now," Horatio told him, gaze still lost somewhere down the street. "We did our job."

They stayed silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts for the time being. It was Ryan who broke the silence, yet again. "Hey, you still wanna grab some lunch with me?" he asked Calleigh. It was still a bit early, but as they were done with the heaviest load of the work, he figured the time was right for a break.

She responded with a relieved expression; so relieved, in fact, that it was almost funny. "Yes, that would be great! I'm famished." She leaned to the front so she could look at the other two. "I decided to skip breakfast this morning so I could get a little more sleep," she added, as a bit of an explanation for Horatio, who was looking kind of lost in the conversation. That, and she saw the way Eric was starting to grin; it wouldn't do to have him thinking things that weren't true. She threw him a mock glare and he laughed. "Let's go, then," she told Ryan, and they started walking back inside, where they would take the elevator down to the parking garage.

Horatio turned to look at them as they left. He took off his glasses as he finally noticed they were walking hand-in-hand. "Well, that's new," he said, in a surprised tone that wasn't very usual in him, but was terribly amusing. Eric snorted. Horatio turned to him, sunglasses in his hand, halfway between his face and his breast pocket; that's how astonished he was. "Was this what yesterday was all about?" he asked, eyebrows raised in a curious fashion.

Eric laughed. "Yeah." He crossed his arms.

"Well, at least something good came out of this case," Horatio replied, finally putting his glasses in his pocket.

Eric nodded. "It was a tough one, alright."

"But it's over now," Horatio finished, with a serene smile. Then both men followed their co-workers' path towards the inside of the building.

·

* * *

·

**Author's notes--**

THE END! ... :3

Crap, I'm missing some "last scene of the episode" background music. I was thinking Paolo Nutini's "Rewind," but that's already been used, and it doesn't really fit the plot, methinks. Maybe I should just cue "Won't get fooled again" characteristic robotic keyboard sounds xD

18 pages again, if you don't count these author's notes. Not too shabby :)

PPE means "personal protective equipment." Oh, and Ryan's anecdote about his sister's earring is based on a true story-- my own. The light bulb thing didn't really happen, it just seemed more of a "Ryan" motive to be mad at his sister. In real life, I was completely the victim, I assure you ;) I didn't do anything to him, it just happened. My little brother had the habit of pulling and biting when he was a baby. It hurt like the devil, let me tell you. And well, he's seventeen now, but I wouldn't exactly say he's gotten any better... Bx

Sorry if I got too mushy and Ryan ended up sounding a bit like a girl. It's the fangirl in me, I couldn't help it. The fluff took over my body xD But still, I rather liked how that scene came out. I don't think there are any men reading this anyway; if you're a guy and you're reading this, review and let me know, so I can properly kick myself! Also, yes, the Eric & Nat thing was left hanging... To be truthful, I don't quite know how to get them together, and I didn't think it fit in this chapter, or in this fic at all. Nothing major happened to make Eric react, not like in Ryan & Calleigh's case. So I just left it like that. I hope it doesn't bother you guys.

I have no idea if IBIS stores ballistics information of cases that are dropped. I took a bit of liberty on that one, Wikipedia wasn't very forthcoming with IBIS information. I know, though, that in Florida the permits issued to carry a concealed weapon don't contain much information about the make and model of the particular gun, so they had no way of knowing the gun Tommy used was his father's, except through IBIS. So every time you see in the show that they locate suspects through their gun, via the concealed weapon permit, feel free to jump up and bonk the writers in the head, because they messed up ;) It's been known to happen.

Miami News Daily, Biscayne Bay Tribune and Entertainment News and Views are all real publications in Miami, which I certainly don't own, but I wanted to be accurate. The reporters' names are made up, though. And did you guys catch the little cameo our favorite reporter from CSIM-land had there? She wasn't going to miss THAT story, for sure xD

Do you guys hate me yet for making Tito kill his sister? Sorry, I set out to do "shocking" and "surprising" and that was the only thing I could come up with. I don't think it was shocking enough anyway, but I'm pretty satisfied for now.

Taking a page from Harry Potter-- Blimey! Last chapter I made it to 30 reviews! That's bloody awesome, people :D I really have to thank you all for being so lovely and nice; if it hadn't been for your warm reviews, I would've scrapped this thing a long time ago. So thank you so much! I love y'all :3 Please review this chapter as well, and let me know what you thought of the ending. Yes, even the completely unoriginal chapter title :S

_In the next chapter!_... I'm kidding xD There is no next chapter... at least not yet. Yes, you heard right, there _might_ be a sequel to ITD. I've got some good ideas, but there's not enough science in them yet for my taste, so I have to think them through a bit more. So as of now, I can't promise anything. But you guys should definitely stay tuned. See ya latahs, babehs :) -Carla.


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